What Happened At Farford
by CooperGirlHH
Summary: Narnians are missing, and Peter and Edmund set out to find out what's going on. Little do they know they are heading straight into danger ... Golden Age adventure fic; reviews welcome :) Rated T for a little bit of violence in later chapters
1. Chapter 1

**What Happened At Farford**

 **Summary:** Narnians are missing, and Peter and Edmund set out to find out what's going on. Little do they know they are heading straight into danger ...

 **Autor's Notes:** Yay! Second new story posted today!

There's going to be a bit of adventure in this one; hope, you'll like it! :)

This is set in the Golden Age, but before the events told in the book _**The Horse and his Boy**_. Both Peter and Edmund are still in their teenage years, although a couple of years older than in my fic _ **The King's Quest**_.

 **Disclaimer:** The usual applies (check my profile for it)

 **Many, many thanks to _Realismandromance_ for taking the time to edit this! **

XXX

"Are you really sure you want to come?" asked Edmund, eyebrows raised so high that they disappeared into his too-long dark fringe. Hands on hips, concern written across his face, his stance strongly reminded Peter of Susan.

Alroy, the faun captain, and his men had just filed out of the room a moment ago. And although Peter had had to admit, while listening to them holding council with his brother in charge, that Edmund – despite just having turned sixteen – seemed to be in control of everything, the High King was reluctant to let the party go on the campaign without him. Not because he honestly thought that _they_ would need him – it was much rather _he_ who needed to _go_.

Two full months of being ill, spent under the watchful eyes of two worried younger sisters, was enough to make anybody need a change of scenery. So, when Peter had been declared healthy after a bad case of pneumonia, it hadn't taken him long to find out that a council was to be held concerning some recent troubles which had come up along Narnia's western border. Word had reached the castle of Cair Paravel of Narnians who had gone missing, most of whom had last been seen very close to the country's border.

It was a natural border, defined by high mountains which no Narnian had ever crossed. There were very few accessible paths leading into the mountains, and most of them were steep and difficult to pass. So far, Narnians had not seen any reason to try.

Having taken pity on his elder brother – who needed to escape their sisters' worried glances for a while – Edmund had agreed to let Peter take part in his council. However, getting the Just King to agree with having his brother accompany him and his party on the upcoming campaign would probably be a much harder task.

Peter took a moment to consider which tactic would serve him best, and decided it might just happen that Edmund would take pity on him yet again. After all, if anybody understood what it was like to have a worried Susan on their back, it was Peter's younger brother. On the other hand, of course, Peter could always play the High King card, but that would only earn him a hard time with Edmund. Hence, he chose the first tactic.

"Come on, Ed, you know I need to get out of here for a while – Susan's driving me mad!"

"Is she?"

"Oh, _come on_!"

Edmund grinned at him. The little devil was quite obviously enjoying this. But who was Peter to blame him? After all, he knew that in the past, when it had been Edmund who had been Susan's object of concern and protectiveness, Peter had usually just laughed and told his brother to wait until it passed.

He briefly wondered if the other tactic might still be better. But no, being diplomatic would serve him best when it came to Edmund. He sighed.

"Look here, Ed, I know you've planned this out very well – and in any case, the Western Woods are your domain and I totally accept that you will be in command of this whole operation – but _please_ , take me with you."

For a moment, Peter wondered if Edmund would make him drop to his knees, but then his brother's expression suddenly sobered, and Peter was seriously concerned until Edmund let out a sigh.

"Fine, come along if you must. But only as my advisor. You will _not_ come in a military function – and you will avoid any danger like the plague."

Now, it was Peter's turn to be amused. "Little brother, since when have you become so protective of me?"

His brother snorted. "Since I've had to save your sorry life too many times after we became Kings. Besides, it's not just for your sake, but for my own as well, because if I don't bring you back in one piece, Susan will have my head."

Peter laughed heartily. "Probably," he agreed. Rather pleased with this outcome, he made himself more comfortable in his chair, picking up the map that was laid out on the table for planning the mission.

The sound of Edmund clearing his throat pointedly made Peter look up again.

"What are you waiting for? Go, pack. We're leaving at first dawn tomorrow."

Peter grinned and jumped to his feet, making it a point to demonstrate how full of energy he was. If truth be told, though, he had to admit to himself that it was a show he was putting on; he really wasn't quite in shape yet. But his brother needn't know.

Edmund was waiting by the door, one hand on the knob and the other on his hip. As Peter made to leave the room, he suddenly felt the urge to hug his brother, and so he threw his arm around Edmund's shoulder, pulling him close.

The younger king, accustomed to his elder brother's demonstrative affection, did not return the gesture, but bore it for at least half a minute longer than Peter expected him to. Edmund, under normal conditions, was not particularly fond of his siblings' regular and sometimes baseless need for open display of affection, but he endured them for a couple of minutes at least – sometimes even more, when it came to Lucy.

Peter took an extra moment to think whether he should also place a brotherly kiss on Edmund's cheek, but decided that he had tried his luck enough for one day. So instead, he let go, and even refrained from ruffling his brother's hair.

He had some packing to do, anyway.

X

As usual before starting a campaign that would take him away from his beloved home for a while, Edmund didn't sleep very well that night. After the six years he had been a king, one might think that he would have become used to this by now, but he still found himself anxious if a potential threat lay ahead. Unlike Peter, who lived and breathed adventure, to Edmund, this was simply part of his duty. He preferred the moment when the adventure lay behind him and he was back at the Cair, safe and sound, with one more story to tell.

What made things worse tonight was that he couldn't help wondering if Peter coming along so soon after his bout with pneumonia was really such a good idea. Susan, of course, had not approved. Lucy, as always, had put her faith into Peter knowing what he was doing – and of course into Aslan, who would find a way of telling them if they were about to make a mistake.

Edmund himself had, after thoroughly thinking it through, made the decision that he had better leave it up to his elder brother to know if he was ready or not. After all, Peter was nineteen – old enough, one should think. Besides, he had lots of experience with being on a campaign of this sort.

However, despite having faith in Peter's judgement, Edmund was brooding that night, which led to relentless tossing and turning; he slept fitfully for no more than an hour before spending another hour awake and brooding, only to fall back into another short sleep. Not being much of a morning person on any day, the restlessness at least helped him to get up and ready in time. But only just.

So, of course, once he was finally ready to mount Philip's back, he heard the unmistakable voice of the High King calling out to him, "I say, you're a little late, dear brother!"

One foot already in the stirrup, Edmund pondered for a while if he should send for Susan, letting her know that their older brother had skipped breakfast on the day of their leave – thereby making sure that Susan would find a way to keep him at the Cair.

"He's in excellent form this morning, isn't he?" chuckled Philip, with a joyous whinny that annoyed Edmund even more.

The young king let out a snort, then pushed himself upwards until he came to sit in the saddle and dug his heels into Philip's sides, none too gently. "Never mind him," he grumbled. He was not yet over his foul early morning mood, worsened by the fact that he himself had had to skip breakfast for the sake of a timely departure, and had slept so little that it was making him feel a bit dizzy.

As the hours passed by, however, his mood soon changed for the better, especially when he saw how much his brother was enjoying the ride. Having been confined to his chambers for weeks on end, Peter must be appreciating the fresh autumn air, still warm from the summer sun. He had practically missed the whole summer season, thanks to his prolonged illness.

Just how Peter had managed to catch pneumonia in the warmest season of the year was a mystery. Well, not quite, if truth be told – because anybody who knew him knew that he was always on the verge of overexerting himself and regularly even crossing that line.

Edmund could, of course, understand how that came to be. For a king, there was always work to do – always a threat to his kingdom to overcome, always a complicated diplomatic situation to sort out; in sum, there was always a battle to be fought, whether it be with words or with weapons. Edmund knew that from his own experiences, and he also knew quite well what overexertion felt like. It could make the strongest person ill if endured for too long.

In this particular case, it had been a series of events, starting with King Lune of Archenland sending word to Cair Paravel of an upcoming revolt in his country. A power-hungry, treacherous count had been eager to demonstrate his dissatisfaction with how the country was ruled, and he had had an impressive number of men who rallied around him. The king had seen no other way but to ask for the High King Peter of Narnia to send a party to his aid – a party which Peter had decided to command himself.

At the same time, a Calormene ambassador had announced his visit, and had insisted on a meeting with the High King himself. So, they had ended up meeting at Anvard in between planning and eventually fighting the battle against the Archenlander traitor. It had taken Peter almost a full day to convince the Calormene that he had to travel on to Cair Paravel to discuss his matters there, and that Peter's brother, King Edmund, had full sovereignty in handling all negotiations.

Thinking back, Edmund could very well have done without those negotiations, anyway – for nothing had come of them. The subject had been to expand Calormene slave trading areas to as far as the Lone Islands, which were part of Narnia. For the life of him, the Calormene ambassador had not understood that slavery in Narnia was not tolerated – not anymore, at least, since the power of the White Witch had been broken.

Although diplomacy was Edmund's strong suit, he had come to the point where he had simply seen no other way but to break off negotiations and send Orieus to accompany the Calormene all the way to the great desert which began just south of Archenland, ordering the General to serve as reinforcement for Peter afterwards – if needed.

A couple of days later, word had been sent back from Anvard that Peter had been badly wounded and had caught an infection. He had stayed in the care of King Lune's people for a bit, finally returning to Cair Paravel half recovered, and from then on, it had gone downhill. Even Lucy's cordial couldn't do much good – weakened by the infection as the High King was.

Now, he was finally up and about again.

It was a four-day ride from Cair Paravel to the point where the first disappearances had been recorded. Two young black dwarfs hadn't come back from a day's trip to the forest where they traded for food with Talking Beasts and other inhabitants of the Western Woods. They belonged to a clan of dwarfs who lived just east of the border, their mine leading deep into the mountains – way beyond the border, but underground. Until now, nobody had ever thought anything of it, because there had never been any people coming across the mountains from the west, either to make a claim on the land or to establish a diplomatic relation with Narnia.

What lay beyond those mountains, nobody knew.

Edmund knew that if the party took full advantage of the daylight and rode on into the evening, they could cut down the time to three and a half days. For the sake of his missing subjects, he was tempted to do so, although early in the evening, he noticed that his brother was looking worn out.

Peter's horse trotted along a couple of paces ahead of Philip, and Edmund couldn't help his stomach tightening with concern as he looked at his brother's leather-clad back. The High King wore a tunic that was made from fine, soft leather, but still robust and protective enough for as long as he chose not to wear full armour, which was too uncomfortable to travel in. Although the leather did not cling to his body and show off anything, Edmund knew of the too-sharp shoulder blades underneath it, two months of little appetite and battling with fevers had left the High King considerably thinner than he used to be. The muscle bulk of his chest and shoulders that Edmund used to envy him for had atrophied visibly, and he had an uncharacteristically frail look about him that the younger king found hard to bear.

With a soft dig in the sides, Edmund urged Philip to catch up with Peter's horse, Adel. Once he was next to his brother, he looked him over sceptically; Peter was pale and sweat gleamed on his forehead.

"How are you holding up?"

"Been better," Peter admitted. "But, I'm good to go for another hour or so."

Edmund shook his head. "If I bring you back sick again, I'll never hear the end of it from the girls." A gentle tug on the reins, and Philip came to a halt. "We're stopping here for the night!" he called out, deliberately ignoring Peter, who was trying to signal to him that stopping already on his account was unnecessary.

"Well, _I_ don't mind," mumbled Philip, and he whinnied joyfully as Edmund hopped off his back.

Soon, everyone was busy setting up the camp, fetching water from a nearby creek and starting a fire. Edmund smiled to himself – Peter could complain all he wanted. This was the perfect place to spend the night.

X

Peter lay awake and listened, waiting for his brother's breathing to even out. As usual, the two kings shared a tent while on campaign. Although Edmund had never put it into words, Peter knew that this comforted his little brother as much as himself – if not even more. And, as usual while on a military mission, Peter was determined to stay awake until he heard the deep even breaths that told him that Edmund was finally resting peacefully.

"You don't have to wait for me to fall asleep, you know."

At the unexpected words, Peter rolled onto his side, propping his head up on his elbow and looking over, despite not seeing more than his brother's outline in the darkness. He knew that Edmund was likewise looking in his direction.

"I just want to make sure you're getting some rest."

Peter knew very well about the anxiety that lay behind his brother confident exterior. It had nothing to do with actual fear, though, at least not for himself. If anything, Edmund would fear for the life and the safety of his subjects, and partly for his faithful soldiers as well. And he felt the pressure of being responsible for them.

Over the past six years, Peter had watched his brother grow from a moody little boy into not only a trustworthy youth, but also a competent warrior and clever strategist. The High King had no doubt that his brother was up to the task that lay ahead, and he knew that Edmund had no doubts about it, either. But being in command of a mission was draining – for some reason, it had always been more draining for Edmund than for Peter. It didn't help that he had always had a tendency to brood. At night, there was a lot of time to think things through, which became highly inconvenient when on a mission. Of course, as the mission carried on, Edmund probably would get less chance for brooding, as he was likely to tire himself out. Once he reached a certain point of exhaustion, he would sleep much better, but now he was far from that point.

"I could have gone on for a little longer, Ed," Peter said in a low voice. "You'd be more tired now if we had. Consider this tomorrow, will you?"

He heard Edmund grumble something into his pillow, but it didn't pass as a reply. If anything, it was likely to be a command to shut up – a command that Peter reluctantly but submissively obeyed. He was quite familiar with his brother's moods, knowing well that poking and prodding would lead to nothing at all.

It took another long while until Peter finally heard the satisfying sound of deep even breaths coming from the other side of the tent, and with a smile to himself, he rolled over into a more comfortable sleeping position and soon fell into a deep, dreamless rest.

XXX

 **A/N:** Let me know what you think ... :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Many many thanks to my editor, _Realismandromance_ ; you did a great job as always!**

XXX

The fourth morning dawned, colouring the eastern horizon in a faintly red light. It was barely bright enough for Peter to see where he put his feet as he stumbled tiredly out of the tent, but the soldiers were already up; everybody was either having breakfast or getting ready to set out for the last part of their journey. Peter watched silently, sitting by the fire and chewing with some difficulty on a dry, tasteless pastry. He secretly hoped that the dwarfs they were about to pay a visit to would be able to supply them with something fresh. Field rations always became unappealing when preserved for too long.

His younger brother had not yet woken up. As Peter had dragged himself off his cot, he had briefly considered waking Edmund, but he suspected that, once more, Edmund had not fallen asleep until far into the night. With the mission ahead, he would need as much rest as he could get.

Falling asleep late was, of course, at least partly a matter of habit. Of all four siblings, Edmund was the one most likely to be up until late into the night on a regular basis – especially when he had buried himself in work. Next to fighting battles for the safety of their country and subjects, work to the kings of Narnia usually meant concerning themselves with law enforcement. Herein, it had been a silent agreement from the very beginning that the legislative and the judicial power lay with Edmund, while the High King was the executive. For the younger, with his duty came the need to delve into thick books – books that Peter would never have managed to read through.

"Beg your pardon, Sire."

Peter looked up at the voice. It was Alroy, the faun captain, who had come to stand next to him, looking down at him. If Peter was not mistaken, there was an uncharacteristically sheepish look on the faun's face as he said, "Sire, your brother announced that we should leave just after dawn, so that we could be with the dwarf clan around noon, to get a chance to talk with their eldest today. Hence, it's about time we left here, but ... well ..." Here, he broke off, but Peter had a good idea of what the faun wanted to say.

"You want me to wake him?" he asked, unable to hide a smile.

"In all honesty, Majesty, I'd rather it be you than me."

"Never mind," said Edmund's voice, from right behind them.

They both looked around, and found themselves face to face with a very tired-looking Just King. Seeming relieved, the faun bowed to Edmund and quickly saw to it that the king's tent was disassembled for departure.

Peter nodded at his brother and patted the free space next to him. "Come and sit, have a bite to eat," he said.

Edmund sat, avoiding Peter's gaze. He stifled a deep yawn, and Peter handed him a pastry, which Edmund took with very little enthusiasm. He began picking at it, but very little food really made it past his lips.

Peter couldn't help being concerned. "Not hungry?" he asked gently.

"Not very," Edmund admitted in a distracted tone. He held out the remains of his pastry to Peter and asked, "You want the rest? I had to promise to Susan I'd keep you fed, anyway."

Peter raised an eyebrow at the offer. "Not after you've picked it apart like that," he said, underlying his words with a little snort in the same manner his brother often used. Edmund smirked, then threw the rest of his breakfast across the fire, where it landed on the ground.

"The birds shall eat it, then," he said, ignoring Peter's disapproving expression.

Peter nodded slowly, and after pondering for a moment, decided it was well worth to try asking, "Something bothering you?"

There was no answer to that, and Peter knew his suspicions were not unfounded. Experience told him, though, that he would have a hard time getting it out of Edmund. Carefully, he poked a little further. "Ed, if there's anything –"

"Don't, Pete," snapped Edmund sharply. "You know I've not slept well these few nights. There's no need to talk it through." He got to his feet, leaving Peter sitting alone, and went to talk to his second in command and see if everything was ready for departure.

X

Edmund was quite aware of his elder brother keeping a watchful eye on him, especially that morning. Despite knowing that Peter only meant well, it annoyed the younger king. After all, considering Peter's recent illness, it should be the other way around.

All morning, there had been an unusual tension between the two, and Edmund knew it was he who was to be blamed for it. He had allowed Peter to come along on this mission as his advisor, and he knew it meant working together, discussing their strategy, but the High King seemed increasingly exhausted by the journey alone. Edmund wasn't going to burden him with tales about either his sleeplessness or the possible reason for it. Especially not when he himself had not yet worked out what was causing it.

Of course, he had spent hours at night, wondering what was keeping him up. It must be the mission – something about it seemed off, in some strange kind of way that Edmund couldn't yet put his finger on. He suspected that he already had the answer, but it must be buried deep down in his subconscious. He would have to wait until his conscious mind processed the information, then he might be ready to share it with Peter. For now, all he wanted was to be sure that his brother was all right and did not overexert himself again.

They had come close to their first destination when Peter rode up next to Edmund. "Almost there," he said casually.

To ease the tension, Edmund accepted this as an invitation for a chat and asked, "What do you reckon lies in the mountains behind the border? Have you ever wondered about them?" He looked up at the mountaintops which towered over the woods ahead of them.

"Of course – several times, actually. But I have no idea, really. Could be anything, for all I know."

"Who knows – maybe we're about to find out," Edmund said, and turned his head towards Peter. He had to squint against the bright autumn sun, but he could see that Peter looked thoughtful.

"I do hope we're not heading straight into any danger we're not prepared for."

"We are very well prepared," replied Edmund, pointing his finger to remind Peter of the strength of the army he had brought along.

Understanding the intention behind his brother's words, Peter hurried to say, "I know you had us prepared well enough. But we might be about to enter unknown territory."

"We might, yes ... however you, dear brother mine, are not," Edmund replied sternly.

The High King smiled. They both knew it was unrealistic to think that Edmund would convince Peter to stay behind if it became necessary to ride into the mountains.

Not much later, they arrived at their destination. It was early in the afternoon. They set up their camp about ten minutes' walk away from the mine; black dwarfs were known to be very uncooperative, and even more so if faced by too big a group. It didn't even matter that the kings had personally set out to help them: their attitude would be just the same.

While the soldiers were setting up the camp, Edmund sat with Peter and the captain to discuss their next steps. It was agreed that both kings should go and talk to the chief dwarf; two kings would make even more of an impression on the stubborn creatures than one alone. And they would take a small party of two fauns and a centaur as their company. Alroy was to stay at the camp and be in command of the remaining soldiers.

Soon, the small group set out to meet the chief dwarf, which was usually the clan eldest. When they reached the mine entrance, they were greeted by two female dwarfs, who were guarding it. They were both armed with crossbows, meeting their visitors with hostile expressions, arrows ready on the strings.

"Stop! Who are you?" sneered one.

"These are your kings, fool!" said Castor, the centaur, indicating the two kings. He was tall, even for a centaur, and his very deep voice was more than sufficient to intimidate anyone but the dwarfs, who appeared to be unimpressed. They gave the two young humans critical looks over. It was testing Edmund's patience, but he made himself wait until the dwarfs were done scrutinising him and Peter, then he spoke.

"Word has reached us that your clan is missing two members. Have you been attacked?"

"Why do you think we put up guards on the entrance to our mine?" said the dwarfs.

"Your Majesty," said Castor sternly, in addition.

The dwarfs glared at them.

Folding his arms across his chest, Edmund glared back. He had learned in the past years that dwarfs could often only be beat by their own weapons. In this case, if they chose to be impolite and hostile, so would he. He exchanged a short glance with his brother. The High King did not usually agree with this strategy, but that was just the reason why Peter never got anywhere when dealing with uncooperative dwarfs. Edmund almost found himself grinning at the thought – some advisor Peter was on this campaign!

"Well, now, have you been attacked or not?" he asked, not even trying to keep the impatience out of his voice. "If not, there is no need for one, let alone two kings to waste their time – and stop aiming at us!" He reached out a hand and laid it on the nearest crossbow, pushing it down until the arrow pointed at the ground.

With a scowl, the dwarf dropped the arm which held her weapon, and reluctantly she stepped aside, making room for the kings.

X

Peter had never been inside a dwarf mine before. As he walked through it now, he couldn't help feeling a bit claustrophobic. The further in they walked, the less air there seemed to be, and what air there was felt sticky and devoid of oxygen. Castor had stayed outside; he was too big to get in. And he was also the most suited to go and get the rest of their party for help, should the need arise.

Peter was walking behind his brother. He looked around and took in the bearded faces, staring at them. So far, he had refrained from laying his hand on his sword hilt like Edmund did. It was a stance that gave an armed man a more impressive look, especially helpful when dealing with foes. Of course, these dwarfs were no foes, yet they seemed to have so little respect that Peter could very well understand why his brother chose to make as big an impression as he could. Peter himself would have liked to do as well, but he had promised to hold back in military ways. The fact that he had Rhindon strapped to his waist was just out of habit; he never left the castle without.

His thoughts were interrupted by the voice of Anjus, the faun soldier who was in the lead, declaring loudly that the Kings of Narnia had come to speak with the clan eldest.

Only now Peter realised how many dwarfs had gathered around them, staring with all sorts of expressions on their various faces, ranging from curious to sneering to distrustful – and some just looking most impatient.

They had come to a halt, and when nothing happened after Anjus' declaration, Edmund cleared his throat loudly and said in a piercing tone, "Say, good dwarfs, is there anybody responsible for this clan?"

A very old-looking dwarf pushed through the crowd and came forward. He positioned himself directly opposite Edmund, offering a deep bow to the king and his party, then turned around to sneer at his people, "What's wrong with you? There's the king coming to see us and you're behaving as if he were a stray dog ... down on your knees with you!"

They obeyed, albeit reluctantly.

"Actually," said Edmund, with an arched eyebrow, nodding towards Peter, "you've been blessed with a visit not just from me, but the High King himself." He was successfully keeping his amusement out of his voice; only Peter knew him well enough to know it was there.

The dwarfs spent a long moment staring at him, but then they all got up from their knees, turned towards Peter and went down again.

The High King couldn't help smirking down at them. "Greetings," he said. "To all of you."

There was a buzz of voices as they all mumbled their greetings back. None got up from their knees, but they kept throwing glances at their eldest as if waiting for the leader to allow them to their feet. The eldest grumbled a few words, and signalled for his people to get back up and on with their work. Then he motioned for the two kings and their faun guards to follow him.

It soon became clear to Peter that these mining dwarfs spent all their life inside their mine – except for getting food, of course. But, other than that, everything they needed was underground.

Following the clan eldest, they were led into a small chamber. There were several chairs gathered around a table – all dwarf-sized, of course. As he sat down, Peter had a lot of trouble folding his long legs under the low table. While he tried to get comfortable, he noticed that Edmund was having the same problem. Meanwhile, the two fauns remained standing by the door. If not for the fact that he would have to bend over while standing, Peter would have preferred that for himself.

As it was, he finally settled for stretching his legs out in front of him, carefully positioning them so that they wouldn't get tangled up with his brother's. Before closing the door behind them, the dwarf eldest, Fritjof by name, bellowed some order to one of his companions. Soon, a sour-looking female dwarf came in, carrying five beakers filled to the brim with dark, heavy, dwarf-made beer.

Anjus and Carron refused the beer; it was well-known in Narnia that fauns couldn't stomach beer. Lucky them, Peter thought: they can refuse without offending the dwarf eldest.

After he had sipped down half of his beer, Fritjof gave both kings an apologetic look. "You must forgive those ninnies out there, Majesties," he grumbled. "They are all as thick as bricks. Never knew anything but the life in this mine."

"Well, at least the two guarding the mine didn't kill us right away," said Edmund dryly. He took another drag of beer, and it was probably only Peter who noticed his suppressed shudder at the smell and taste of the bitter liquid. "To come straight to the point, word has reached us that you are missing two clan members."

"They didn't return from a trip to the woods," Fritjof confirmed, with a curt nod. "I sent them to trade – we can't eat what we mine, so we trade with the fauns and the beasts in the forest. They were among the only ones who were intelligent enough to be sent out there. Too bad it's them we're missing."

"Have you talked to the fauns and beasts they usually trade with?" asked Peter, leaning forward a little with his elbows on his knees. "To try and find out where they might be?"

Fritjof glared at him. "Do I look like their mother to you?" He gulped down some more beer and set the beaker down, adding, "Beg your pardon, Majesty ... but to answer your question – no, I haven't. We're working hard here, and I really have no time for investigating the whereabouts of every member. They might as well have left us to join another clan somewhere else, for all I know."

"So, I take it that it wasn't you who turned to Cair Paravel for help?" said Edmund, shifting his legs and involuntarily kicking Peter's shin in the process. He shot an apologetic glance at his brother before turning his attention back to the chief dwarf.

"No, but I think I know who did."

At that moment, the door was pushed open, and a female dwarf, looking quite aged, jostled in past Anjus and Carron.

"You must forgive these thick brainless idiots here, Your Majesties," she said, as she bowed first to Peter, then to Edmund. "It's a pleasure to have you dealing personally with this matter." She glared at Fritjof. "You probably just told them that Aisikke and Ehmi have turned away from us voluntarily."

Fritjof, who was quite obviously intimidated by the fierce female, shrugged and nodded at the same time. "Elka, you have no business to –"

"Nonsense," said Elka sharply. "If you can't ask for help – and remember, these are the kings themselves here – I can." She turned to look at Peter again. "Please, your Majesty, whatever Fritjof told you, you mustn't listen. He is too proud to ask, but we are missing two beloved members of our clan, and if there is any chance to find out about their whereabouts ..."

"That's what we are here for," said Peter, nodding at his brother. "But you need to talk to King Edmund over there. He is in charge of this mission. If anybody can decide what you can expect from our involvement, it is he. I shall just listen while you talk."

XXX

 **A/N:** You just got to love these dwarfs, eh?

Please let me know if you enjoyed the chapter!

Cheers


	3. Chapter 3

**Edited by the lovely _R_ _ealismandromance_ \- many many thanks!**

 **Also many thanks to those of you who reviewed! I love to know what you think!**

XXX

There was not much additional information that Elka, Fritjof's mate, gave them, but at least they found out where the two missing dwarfs had usually gone to acquire food for their clan. It was a trading place at a clearing in the woods, where a creek from the icy mountaintops ended in a small lake. Here, mining dwarfs met with forging dwarfs and exchanged raw materials for metal tools; other Narnians also came, and offered fresh bread and fruit and wine. It was a place known only by the local Narnians; they called it Farford. However, Edmund was sure that he had heard of it before, but he just couldn't recall in what context.

It was late when they left the mine, and although Edmund would have preferred to ride to Farford that very evening, he knew it wouldn't make sense. There wouldn't be anybody there. Most of the trading happened in the morning.

Secretly, he was hoping that by visiting Farford he would get the chance to pick up some fresh food for himself and his soldiers. There had been nothing the dwarfs could spare, and the field rations they'd brought from Cair Paravel had gone stale by now. After having gone through the whole day with nothing but a few bites of tasteless pastry in the morning and a litre of dwarf beer in the afternoon, Edmund was considerably hungry. On top of that, the heavy beer on a nearly empty stomach had made him feel a little dizzy, too. He was careful to not let Peter notice, though.

Edmund knew that, if he was lucky, Alroy might have sent some of their soldiers hunting for fresh meat while the kings were at the dwarf mine. And, of course (as usual), he wasn't disappointed by his second-in-command; when the kings and their guard returned to the camp, they found that there was a fire burning and rabbits on the spit.

With a sensibly large portion of grilled meat, Edmund found himself a place a little aside from the soldiers. Here, he sat on a rock and watched his people contently as they ate and chatted with the High King amidst them. Laughter rang out to him every once in a while, and Edmund smiled silently every time he could distinguish his brother's hearty laughter among the others.

"Don't you start brooding," said a well-known, well-beloved voice next to Edmund. "There will be lots of time for that later tonight if you keep up your recent sleeping patterns, Edmund."

"I'd much rather not," admitted Edmund, looking up at Philip who had joined him, chewing silently, grass stalks sticking out from his jaw.

"Were you successful today?" Philip shifted himself a little, offering his flank for his exhausted king to lean against and get a little more comfortable. With Philip's big frame standing between him and the other soldiers, blocking Edmund from their view, the king allowed himself the comfort of leaning back. What with the little sleep he was managing to get on this mission, it was no wonder that he felt tired, although it wasn't late in the evening.

"Depends," he replied to Philip's question, and stretched his legs out with a little sigh. "At least we know where to look next."

"In the morning, I shall hope ... you look dead on your feet, my friend."

Edmund smirked. "Of course, Philip, of course. In the morning."

X

It came to him that night – the memory that he had raided his subconscious for all this time.

 _Skygrace, one of the fastest eagles in the army, recently promoted to messenger of the west, had come in for the regular monthly audience with his king. It was his job to bring back news from Lantern Waste and the Western Woods to Cair Paravel._

 _Trying to focus on his messenger's reports, Edmund couldn't help being a little short-tempered. All afternoon, he had been highly distracted. It was no wonder; word had just come in from Anvard that Peter was gravely wounded and in a very bad way. King Lune and his healers were doing all they could to get the High King into good enough shape to travel back to Cair Paravel, but it didn't look good. Edmund and Susan had already had a lengthy discussion, trying to decide whether they should send Lucy out to travel to Anvard and get the healing cordial to their brother._

 _"There is one more thing, Sire," Skygrace was just saying._

 _"Huh?" The king realised, not for the first time, that he had not been listening._

 _"Nothing too important, I daresay," said the eagle, regarding his king thoughtfully. "But I should think you had better know anyway."_

 _"Pray tell, Skygrace," said Edmund, forcing himself to focus._

 _"I came across a trading place. The locals call it Farford. It's where dwarfs and woodlanders exchange their various goods. It's far from any human settlement in Narnia." That wasn't a surprise; the few human settlements that had developed in Narnia during the six years after the long winter were all in the south; most humans were coming in from Archenland._

 _Skygrace continued with his report. "I talked to a few nymphs. They frequent the place merely for gossip, so they are my best source of information to find out about everything that's going on_ – _"_

 _"To the point, please," interrupted Edmund curtly. Even on a good day, he was not fond of having too much subsidiary information to process. Unlike Peter, who always seemed to have use for a lengthy tale, Edmund preferred straight-to-the-point reports._

 _"The nymphs just mentioned that they saw men drinking from the lake where Farford lies and bathing in it. Humans. They found that very unusual."_

 _"But there was no trouble rising up with them around?"_

 _"No, Sire. Obviously, they haven't been seen there again. It was several weeks ago."_

 _"Strange ..." mumbled Edmund. He was about to order Skygrace to gather more information when the door to the council chamber was roughly pushed open and an uncharacteristically dishevelled-looking Susan tumbled inside._

 _"We just received another message from Anvard, Edmund_ – _they're sending a party to bring Peter back. King Lune says it might be best if Lucy rode to meet them halfway with her cordial. I shall send her, but I would feel much better if you rode with her."_

 _So Edmund did – and, forgetting all about Farford, he commanded Skygrace to set out and meet the party from Archenland and tell them exactly which way they were to take, to make sure they didn't miss each other along the way. There were two paths that could be taken: one ran along the very seashore and was straight, but also rocky and difficult for horses; the other ran through woods – a much easier ride, although slightly longer. It was the latter which he chose, for it was still the faster way to go when on horse, and getting to his brother's aid as fast as he could consumed his thoughts._

X

Farford was a place of unique beauty, Peter had to admit as he slowly rode along the small lake that lay by the clearing that Elka, the dwarf, had described them. The lake was fed by a creek of crystal clear water which came elegantly down from a steep cliff just a couple hundred yards to the west, where the mountains lay. Peter assumed that the creek had built from melted snow somewhere high up, where ice and winter lasted all year.

As beautiful as the place was, there was one thing missing about it, and Peter wondered why. It was supposed to be a regularly frequented trading place, but there was nobody here. No dwarfs, no fauns, no nymphs or beasts. The place was lifeless and still in a way that was almost creepy.

Peter dug his heels gently into Adel's sides, urging his horse to catch up with Philip, who was a good hundred steps ahead with the rest of today's party. Only now, the High King realised that he had been so awed that he had not kept pace with his brother and the soldiers. For some reason, however, Edmund obviously had not yet noticed it; otherwise, he would have commanded the party to stop and wait. Peter grinned to himself; his little brother had been a right nuisance ever since they had left Cair Paravel five days ago, keeping such a watchful eye on him. It was as endearing as it was tedious.

To avoid an unnecessary scolding in front of all the soldiers, Peter hurried to catch up. When Adel reached Philip, who was trotting forward at a good pace, looking alert, Peter called out, "Where in the name of Aslan _is_ everybody? Isn't this place supposed to be a busy trading area?"

"You're quite right to ask so, King Peter. I daresay something must have happened here," said Philip.

"You must be right, Philip," said Edmund, as he made the horse slow down. He let his eyes wander along the opposite shore of the lake, searching for movement in the trees; on the other side, there was no clearing, as the trees came right up to the water.

It was all still.

Peter slowed Adel down as well, but nevertheless he was now in the lead of the party, which consisted of the two kings, Castor the centaur, Carron and a group of fauns armed with bows as well as swords – and finally, supposed to be flanking them, Fizz and Roak, the two swiftest cheetahs in the royal guard. Intending to correct their order, Peter made Adel stop and stand sideways, meaning for Roak to pass by him and take the lead as he was supposed to. It was just then that he saw a movement out of the corner of his eye.

It was gone as quickly as it had come, leaving behind the eerie stillness they had experienced since arriving here.

But then, Carron's voice rang out loudly from behind him. "Gather around the kings – _hurry_!"

Everything happened very fast. Peter felt his pulse speed up. His body tensed, and below him Adel sidled about nervously.

Suddenly, there was noise as several humans, at the tops of their voices, shouted out something of a battle cry, and before the small party knew what was happening, there came several men from the woods, running across the clearing towards the startled Narnians, their broad swords raised in open display of aggression.

 _We won't stand a chance; there are too many of them_ , Peter thought at once, as the men approached.

If only Alroy and the rest of their soldiers were with them!

"Everybody in formation!" shouted Edmund at that moment. "Protect the High King!"

At the same time, Carron barked commands at the fauns, who had their bows at the ready. "Everybody, arrows on the string ... and ... _fire_!"

"Peter, get out of here!" Edmund's voice was clearly audible above the battle noise.

Peter very nearly told his brother off that very instant for asking him to flee, but then he remembered in what function he had come.

 _Bugger Edmund's orders_ , he thought, though. _By Aslan's mane, I shall fight like the rest of them!_

The arrows rained down on the men, but too many were still on their feet, still coming at them. Peter realised that at least they didn't have any archers on their side, which gave the Narnians a certain advantage, because it meant that their foes were only capable of close combat.

Only moments later, their advantage of having bows at their disposal was no longer relevant, for the first of their foes had reached them, and everybody had to get their swords out. When Peter drew Rhindon from its sheath, his peripheral vision caught sight of the eagle Skygrace flying above their heads, no doubt already on the way to get the rest of the party who had stayed behind, several miles into the forest, setting up another camp. It would take the centaurs about twenty minutes to reach them, and if they carried the smaller, short-legged soldiers, such as dwarfs, fauns and satyrs, the whole army might make it in time to help.

The High King, however, had no time to dwell on those thoughts; several men were ready to attack him at that very moment. Peter still had the advantage of sitting on horseback. He fended two off successfully, but killed neither. Their companions, however, were run through by Castor's sword. From then on, the centaur kept right next to him; Peter was sure that Castor had received special orders from Edmund to protect the High King above all others.

It would fit the little prat to have him guarded so thoroughly – and, although somewhat annoyed by now, there was little Peter could do about it. He was king, yes, but according to Edmund's orders he held no military rank on this mission, meaning that if he ordered the soldiers to concentrate on protecting his brother instead of himself, his orders might remain unheard.

It was a good thing that Edmund was quite able to fend for himself. The Just King, now no longer on horseback, was fighting against two men, while Philip, rising forcefully to his hindlegs, fended off two more. Peter noticed that his brother had acquired a second sword from somewhere and was whirling both weapons through the air with a skill Peter himself did not possess. He had tried, but lacked the level of control in his left arm that fighting with two swords required – at least if one did not wish to cut one's own head off.

No, the High King had always fared better to use his shield as a weapon to complement his sword. All in all, he had always had a different fighting style than his brother, for he might not be quite as quick and as lithe as Edmund, but he possessed a higher amount of physical strength. However, as he fought this time, Peter was soon reminded by his body that he had been very ill not too long ago, and was still on mend. He sword arm began to feel heavy and sweat ran into his eyes, disturbing his vision. He felt his hands getting slick with sweat, too.

A whinny that turned into something of a whimper told Peter that Adel had just been run through, and he quickly yanked his feet out of the stirrups and jumped down before Adel fell, using his shield to push away the man who had killed his horse. The aggressor stumbled and fell, and Peter saw this as his chance to thrust Rhindon into the man's chest.

"Edmund – watch out!" It was Philip's voice ringing out, and Peter turned his head just in time to see his brother tripped by a man with a fallen branch. Edmund, for once, lost his footing and fell on his knees and as he did; his eyes met Peter's and they both knew that the fight was over.

It was time to admit defeat.

"Stop fighting at once, and we shall let you live!" A man came forward, no doubt the leader. He was a tall, broad person, with dark hair and dark skin, and a small golden ring was dangling from his right earlobe. "Drop your weapons!"

There was nothing for it. Peter, as everybody else in the Narnian army, glanced at Edmund, who gave a small nod; for the sake of their lives, everybody dropped their weapons.

"Get to your feet, all of you!" ordered the foreign-looking man, gruffly. "Come on, hurry! Hurry!"

Peter stood on shaky legs while the men tied his hands behind his back, none too gently. The same was done to Edmund, Castor, Carron and the remaining fauns. The cheetahs were muzzled with ropes, and one man held Philip by the reins. Peter saw that there was an arrow sticking from his flank, causing profuse bleeding. How had that happened?

"Quickly, now," said the foreign leader. "Gather the weapons and let's go." Only now Peter noticed that he spoke with an unusual accent, one that Peter hadn't heard before.

As they had everybody bound and secured, the foreign men started picking up fallen swords and arrows and bows. All the while, their leader urged them to move faster.

"Sire, I cannot move this sword – it's as if it were nailed to the ground," said one man. He was standing close by Peter's feet, and it didn't take the king long to realise that it was Rhindon the man was trying to pick up. Peter had experienced a situation like this before – it was as if the sword had its own will, and if the situation called, it would not let itself be moved by anybody but Peter himself.

The leader glared. "Then leave the cursed thing here, Ikeros! We need to get away before their reinforcements arrive."

"Very well, Lord Enzomian." The man called Ikeros nodded and gave Peter a hard shove in the back, making him stumble forward.

A few steps ahead, the leader caught Edmund by the arm and yanked him to his feet. The Just King's face was paler than usual, nearly white and looking even more so in contrast to the dark fringe that fell into his eyes, but his expression was impassive. Still holding onto Edmund's upper arm, Enzomian shook the young king roughly.

"I take it," he sneered, "that you are in command?" He must have noticed that it had been at Edmund's nodding agreement that the Narnians had dropped their weapons.

"You've guessed correctly," said Edmund. "And I daresay you shall be in trouble for holding captive the kings of Narnia." He indicated first Peter, then himself.

" _Kings_?" said Enzomian, snorting out a laugh as he shoved Edmund forward in an even more violent way than Peter had just been pushed by Ikeros. "How many kings does this country of Narnia have then? And _move_!"

They crossed the creek through a shallow ford, then walked alongside it, towards the mountains.

"Narnia is reigned by two Kings and two Queens, and you will be in much trouble if you won't let us go," Edmund insisted as he stumbled forward.

" _You_ will give me trouble?" sneered Enzomian, laughing heartily. "A boy of what? Seventeen?"

The older man, it seemed, took great joy from pushing the young king every few minutes, and Edmund was having a hard time not falling to his knees each time. In fact, he was all in all having a very hard time of it. The men, all much older, probably much more experienced warriors, had a good time making fun of the him – never before had he endured such an amount of mockery, Peter was sure. Edmund, however, took it all in silent dignity. No more words came from him, and his expression showed nothing but impassiveness as he stumbled on, shoved forward roughly by Enzomian.

XXX


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Warning! Chapter contains character deaths (but "only" OCs, no major characters) and some violence!

Lovely _**R**_ _ **ealismandromance**_ has beta-ed this once again! Great job - thank you so much :)

XXX

There was a small path along the creek that led straight towards the steep high rocks which marked the Narnian border. Pushed and shoved roughly by Enzomian and his men, Edmund had a hard time not losing his footing. He wondered if they would let him off a little once they started to climb into the mountains, for it was quite clear that that was where they were headed. But before he could even finish the thought, he heard something that demanded his full attention. He was careful not to let it show, though, for he had an idea what he had heard. It had been only a very low sound, coming from the woods beside the path. It could have been nothing, really, but after years of experience, Edmund had developed a sixth sense.

Somebody was there in the woods, preparing for a fight.

And then there was the unmistakable war cry of Alroy and the remaining Narnians ringing out loudly, just mere seconds before they broke out of the undergrowth alongside the small path.

 _"_ _For Narnia_ _!"_

How they got there without being noticed by their foes or for how long they had been following them, Edmund couldn't say (maybe the cheetahs had noticed them before him), but Alroy was an experienced warrior. He was swift and clever and he nearly always found a way, however complicated the situation might seem. He had been in command of many missions, and Edmund, when he had been younger and still learning how to be a soldier, had accompanied him. Judging by his experience with Alroy, the young king had anticipated a rescue attempt from his captain since his capture.

The Narnians crashed into the small party with such force that for a moment it looked as if the enemy would be beaten in minutes. Letting out a shout of his own, Edmund managed to wind himself out of his distracted captor's hold. With his hands bound behind his back, however, he could do little more to help than deal out a few kicks here or a shove there. Peter didn't fare any better, he noticed after a quick look around, but the High King, too, had freed himself from being held.

At sixteen and not fully grown, Edmund was not big enough to make any real impact by shoving the older, much heavier men, but his well-aimed kicks at their legs brought them to their knees easily enough – a sufficient help for the Narnian soldiers.

Swiftly Edmund managed to dodge many of the enemy's attempts to grab hold of him again. But then he felt himself bump into a big, solid body while stumbling backwards to get out of reach of one of the foreign men's hands. Before he could get away again, he was grabbed from behind. A strong grip fastened itself around his bound arms, and the sensation of coolness from a dagger being held against his neck made him stop struggling.

"Everyone! Stop fighting at once," cried out the man named Ikeros. "Or else, this boy dies." He tightened his grip on Edmund's arms and shoved the dagger a little closer to his skin, drawing blood.

"Everybody – hold it!" called Alroy as well. He was, as Edmund realised, standing very close by, signalling for the soldiers to freeze. Then he turned to Ikeros. "Are you the one in charge?" he asked.

"I am," said Enzomian, stepping forward. Being a big man, he towered over the faun.

"You ought to let go of King Edmund," said Alroy, his eyes darting between his king and the foreigner, who was looking at him with raised brows.

"Why would I?"

"Because whatever you plan, you will achieve nothing by killing the king of Narnia, except raising a war between Narnia and ... whichever country you might be fighting for." He indicated his soldiers, who were gathered around them, their swords loosely in their hands. "If you think this is our whole army, you are mistaken. We will run you over with a force you can't imagine."

Enzomian laughed – a sneering, dirty sort of laugh. "I, for my part, don't serve any country or any king, only myself," he declared. "And, to run us over, you will have to find us first. We know the mountains well and will have every advantage on our side, even if you come with a thousand men ... or beasts ... or which creatures may else serve in your army."

Locking his gaze with his king for a moment, Alroy turned to his soldiers and commanded, "Lay down your weapons!"

All around them, the Narnians slowly started laying their blades on the ground.

"Now release our king," said Alroy, who had been the first to rid himself of sword and dagger. Behind him, others were taking their time disarming themselves, and Enzomian noticed that.

"Hurry up, you! We won't let him go until you are all unarmed."

Ikeros, the man who was still holding Edmund, shifted a little, adjusting his hold on his dagger. Blood was dripping down Edmund's neck – it wasn't much, but he could feel the wet stickiness soaking into his hem.

Suddenly, there was a swooshing sound as an arrow came through the air. Edmund felt it zoom past his ear, taking with it a bit of his skin – but he didn't feel the pain it should have caused, didn't have time to concentrate on it, for now things were happening very quickly.

Behind Edmund, there was a short, strangled yelp and he felt himself being released from the grip as Ikeros toppled to the ground, the arrow that had killed him sticking out from his profusely bleeding neck.

Trained by Alroy as he was, Edmund was sure he knew what the captain was planning; going for full risk to try and get the situation back into their hands. The arrow had come with perfect timing and had caused some distraction among the enemies. On their side, only about half of Alroy's soldiers had already dropped their swords.

Somebody was suddenly behind Edmund, cutting the rope on his wrists. The young king turned around in one swift move and reached for Ikeros' sword, ready to get back into fighting mode. But before he got that far, Enzomian, standing near the faun captain, raised his blade and with a vicious cry lunged forward at Alroy. It was happening too fast for even the faun to react in time and, as if in slow motion, Edmund had to watch as, with one strong blow of Enzomian's broad sword, the captain's head was chopped off. It fell and came rolling up all the way to the Just King's feet.

X

Peter saw his brother's face pale as he watched his second-in-command drop down, his neck now ending in a dark, bleeding stump. For a moment, Edmund looked as if he were about to be sick. All around them, the soldiers who had just a few minutes ago been fighting bravely were now rooted to their spots.

It was time for the High King to take charge.

"Draw back!" he shouted, putting as much force into his voice as he could. "Narnians, draw back, all of you!"

This time, his orders were obeyed, and the Narnians started to move back into the woods. The two kings, however, along with a few, were surrounded by the foreigners, unable to make an escape.

Peter knew it was hard on their soldiers, leaving their kings behind. But it was a necessary tactical draw back, and probably the best chance the soldiers had of getting their kings out alive later.

The foreigners, as to be expected, weren't just letting the Narnians go. Watching several fauns and dwarfs being felled as they tried to get away was nearly unbearable for the High King. However, he didn't turn his eyes away, forcing himself to take it all in. The smell of blood in the air was making him feel sick. But at least he saw Castor make it safely into the woods with the faun Anjus on his back and Philip close on his heels, the arrow still sticking in his flank. One of the cheetahs, Fizz, also escaped. But the Narnians' numbers were severely reduced.

So were Enzomian's. As soon as all remaining Narnians were out of sight, he made sure that his party went on quickly. Peter felt himself being pushed forward until he was next to Edmund. Their hands were bound again, and the two kings were forced to walk in the middle between the men, out of reach of any further rescue attempts.

Among the captured Narnians now were the two kings, Carron and two other fauns, Roak and three dwarfs.

Their captors led them further through the woods, towards the place where high, steep mountain cliffs abruptly interrupted the soft hills. Peter could not make out where they were to go; the way Enzomian led them ended at a high wall of solid rock. Did he want them to climb up?

But just when Peter was almost convinced that they were to climb, they turned sharply to the left, then rounded a ledge, and finally Peter realised that they were headed towards a cave.

The entrance was low and narrow; Peter had to bend over to not bump his head, and a few of the broadest men among their captors had to turn sideways to slip through.

A moment later, they were in complete darkness. Peter moved forward with slow, careful steps, his back turned to the wall on one side of the tunnel so he could feel for bulges and unevenness with his still-bound hands. Once, he stumbled, but caught himself before he could fall. He turned back to whisper warnings to his brother and the soldiers.

After a few more steps, he was relieved to see light shining into the cave; they were almost through the tunnel.

Outside it, they found themselves at a low level in a massive gorge between two mountains, a narrow path leading upwards beside one of the scarps. A river wound its way at the bottom of the canyon, until it disappeared underground about twenty yards below them. Peter was almost sure that it also flowed into the lake at Farford, feeding it from underground.

Before Enzomian led his people and their prisoners higher up along the path, he let his men undo the ropes that bound their prisoners' hands. Relieved to be free of that at least, Peter rubbed his sore wrists, then glanced at Edmund, who was doing the same.

They ascended carefully along the path, and Peter was – not for the first time – thankful for his long legs; the path was exceptionally steep at times, and the men led them at a good pace; soon, everyone was sweaty and breathing hard.

Once again, Peter cursed his recent illness; his muscles were already protesting strongly against the exertion. A couple of steps in front of him, Edmund was making good progress. Peter snorted, watching his lanky brother move upwards without too much obvious trouble. _No wonder,_ he thought – not only was the little imp at the height of physical fitness, he was also smaller than Peter and had less weight to carry.

Behind the High King, the dwarfs were huffing and puffing; with their short legs, they were not equipped for an ascent such as this. Several times, Enzomian threatened to push them over the edge if they moved too slow. At the mere thought, Peter felt his hands get sweaty with unease; he was not at all fond of heights (although it was a fear he could control).

They walked until the sun had sunk behind the mountaintops and the air became unpleasantly cool despite their exertion. Thinking about his leather doublet longingly, Peter tried not to let Edmund notice his shivering. In the warmth of the morning sun, the High King had pulled off the garment and tied it to his saddle, which was now more than a hundred yards below them, at the place where they had been attacked. Edmund, though, was still wearing his, and Peter was sure that his little brother would not hesitate to give it to him if he became aware of how cold the elder was.

When it became too dark to move on safely and they reached a place where the path turned wider, Enzomian called for a break, letting everyone sit down and rest for the night. With a deep moan, Pelle, one of the dwarfs, dropped down unconscious. Peter felt sorry for him.

Roak, the cheetah, settled himself right behind the High King, offering his body as a support to lean against. When Peter accepted this, he quickly realised that the animal's fur was also a perfect source of warmth.

Enzomian let one of his men hand out bread and water to everyone. Peter accepted his portions with a curt nod, and downed them all within a minute. He was still hungry afterwards, and – worse – still thirsty, but he didn't complain. He wasn't surprised when Edmund crawled over from where he had been sitting to offer his brother his share, but it irritated Peter. Did the little idiot think to take care of himself at all? Of course, he declined Edmund's offer, making sure to let his irritation show.

"All right, but take this, then." And with those words, Edmund quickly pulled off his doublet, as Peter had expected before. He handed it over, and without raising an argument, Peter struggled into it. It was too small, but he managed to pull it over and get the buttons done, aware of his brother's eyes on him as he did so.

With Edmund now being the one shivering in the cold evening air in his thin cotton shirt, Peter considered pulling him into a warm hug. But he didn't dare try in front of these foreign men and Edmund's own soldiers. Not as long as the younger was conscious and ready to snap at him if he did. So instead, Peter bent over to silently whisper an order into Roak's ear, and the cheetah obeyed at once. As if by coincidence, he shifted, then crawled over and close to his commander, causing the younger king to smirk knowingly.

Soon enough, the Just King was settled against the cheetah's warm fur, and, exhausted from the day, he fell asleep much sooner than Peter had expected. Cautiously, the High King crawled closer and wrapped first one arm and then the other around his brother.

On Roak's other side, the remaining fauns huddled together, with Carron, the highest-ranking soldier, in their middle. The dwarfs were much less sensitive to the cold. They had simply sprawled out across the landing.

For a while, Peter wondered if it were too much of a risk to sleep as well, thinking that Enzomian might decide to get rid of them after all. But then again, these men had taken them prisoners for a reason; they wouldn't have bothered taking them if they didn't have a purpose for them.

Just as Peter finally closed his eyes, Edmund let out a distressed sigh and shifted against Peter's arms in his sleep, no doubt suffering from an unpleasant dream. Once in this state of exhaustion, Peter knew his brother was not likely to wake up until he had slept off most of his fatigue. The High King placed a brotherly kiss to Edmund's forehead, which calmed the younger just the way Peter had intended. Still, he could not help grinning to himself when he thought about how cross his brother would be if he knew – especially considering that the man Enzomian had picked to stay on watch was staring at the two kings in the moonlight.

Peter stared back, making the older man looked away sheepishly.

X

When Edmund woke, everybody else seemed to still be asleep. It was not yet dawn; the remains of a small fire glowed in the middle between their captors. In the faint light it radiated, Edmund could see that Peter was still out of it, curled up against Roak.

"You're a sweet couple, the two of you," a sarcastic voice said, right above Edmund's head. It was Enzomian himself, hovering above the Narnian king and holding a piece of leather clothing, which he dropped into the boy's hands.

"Put that on," he ordered gruffly. "If I see the two of you cuddling again like last night, I might empty my stomach."

 _Cuddling_?

 _Oh, no_ … it dawned on Edmund that Peter must have spent the night huddled against him, probably even holding him. But then, Edmund conceded, he would have been frozen stiff by now if Peter hadn't. He was already shivering madly again. There was nothing for it; he had to put on the oversized tunic Enzomian had given him. Chances were good that he could get Peter to swap with him later.

It took another couple of minutes, but then everyone was awake, stiff and freezing and hungry. Another small piece of bread was given to each.

Edmund found himself in a dilemma, just like he had the night before. He felt hungry, _starving_ actually, but every time he closed his eyes, even if he only blinked, he was reminded of the terrible sight of Alroy's headless body, and the image made him feel sick to his stomach. In the end, he had to force down the bread, despite his hunger.

Their journey continued, still upwards, but more slowly than the day before. Everyone's legs were aching.

But, Edmund mused, the ascent would have been quite enjoyable under different circumstances. The view over the gorge and the massive rock on the other side was impressive and more than beautiful.

After about an hour or so, the path ended. In fact, as Edmund saw a moment later, it didn't really end. It continued several feet above their heads. They would have to climb that bit, then they could continue. Staring up, Edmund couldn't help feeling a little excited at the thought, knowing full well that this was a dangerous thing to do.

The young king did not think of it as too much of a challenge for himself. He was good at climbing and felt little more than a healthy respect towards heights. What made him a bit anxious, though, was that there was no telling if Peter would be fit enough to overcome this obstacle. Under normal conditions, of course, Edmund would not have given it any thought, but after the exertions that lay behind them, and with Peter still not nearly as fit as he had been before falling ill for so long –

And the climb proved to be trickier than expected. After half of Enzomian's men had pulled themselves up with some difficulty, the prisoners were forced to follow.

Roak, of course, made it safely and without trouble, and Peter followed suit, looking just as steady – much to his brother's relief. Next came the fauns, who had a lot more trouble; their short, bent legs and small hooves were a hindrance.

But the dwarfs had the biggest trouble; though they were trained soldiers, they weren't too agile, and Edmund could barely watch them as they clumsily made their way. It was just when Pelle, the last in line, was almost there that his forerunner made an inept movement and stepped heavily on Pelle's fingers.

The exhausted dwarf yelped and pulled his hand away reflexively. In the process, he lost his footing and fell.

Edmund reacted automatically, dropping down on his stomach and trying to catch the falling dwarf's hand. He felt the slick fingers brush his own for a split second, but didn't manage to keep hold of them.

With a terrified yell, Pelle fell into the canyon, and Edmund could only watch helplessly as his soldier hit a ledge around fifty yards below, where he remained, lying unmoving.

Edmund turned to Enzomian at once, trembling with anger and pain at the loss.

"We ought to get him," he said.

Enzomian smirked at him scornfully. "You don't think I'm going to waste my time on that, do you?"

"He might not be dead," Edmund argued hotly. He stood up and wiped his dirty hands on his trousers, peering over the edge. "We ought to help him. He is a soldier of Narnia and he deserves to be treated as such!"

But Enzomian had unsheathed his sword threateningly. "Move on!" he roared at the young king. "I don't care about your soldiers."

Glancing down, Edmund saw the wounded dwarf move ever so slightly. "He is still alive," he mumbled, then he raised his voice. "Since we can't do anything else, can one of my men have his bow back for a moment? We ought to shoot him, otherwise he'll lie there, wounded and in pain until he dies from hunger or thirst."

Hesitantly, Enzomian finally agreed to this. Edmund had to bite his lip not to cry out in frustration as Carron shot a mortal arrow at the wounded soldier.

 _Why_ , by his holy mane, had Aslan allowed such a thing to happen?

XXX

 **TBC**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** Hi everyone – are you still with me? If so, leave a review and **let me know**! :)

I know this chapter took a while, but it's finally finished and edited (many, many thanks again to _**Realismandromance**_ ), and I'm already working on the next two :)

XXX

For a while, they all just stood still and silent, staring down at the dead dwarf. No one dared say a word, not even their captors. But, too soon, Enzomian became impatient, and he raised his sword to threaten Edmund and make him move on.

Edmund was making his way up the climbing path, shaking with suppressed emotions. Watching worriedly, Peter knelt down at the edge and held out his hand to help. Never before had he seen Edmund look that unsteady at climbing. And the abyss looked all the more dangerous after what they had just witnessed.

It felt like forever until the High King finally caught hold of his brother's hand and pulled him over the edge. Waiting for Enzomian and the last of his men to join them, the two kings stood silently side by side, not looking at each other or speaking, but offering comfort merely through their presence.

Peter put a hand on Edmund's shoulder, squeezing it gently, while he made no secret of his own tears that clouded his vision and ran down his cheeks as he blinked them away. They had already lost lives the day before, but having to watch a Narnian soldier being killed by one of their own was something different entirely.

Later, as they moved on in uncomfortable silence, Peter kept glancing over at his younger brother. Edmund walked beside him, stony-faced and solemn, lips pressed together and jaw clenched. As Peter had expected, Edmund wasn't allowing himself to grieve openly – not now, and not in this company. But the High King knew his brother was suffering just as much as he himself was, if not more.

They were forced to move steadily uphill for another few very unpleasant hours. Finally, late in the afternoon, their way led them through another tunnel, only this one was much longer than the first. Upon entering it, Enzomian made his men bind their captives' hands once more; he was obviously afraid of what the Narnians might do if their hands were free in the darkness of the tunnel.

When they came out on the other side, they found themselves in a wide meadow that covered a plateau and was surrounded by steep cliffs. The lower parts of these cliffs were overgrown with trees, and the meadow itself was sprinkled with colourfully blossoming late summer flowers.

Beyond the mountaintops ahead of them, the sun was sinking low. It cast long shadows behind them, and told Peter that they were now headed west and a little south. It had been difficult to tell when they were in the canyon, as the space between the rocks was generally too narrow to see where the sun was. After a while, Peter also became aware of a small creek; beyond it, he could see a few wooden huts.

"Hurry up," barked Enzomian.

By the time the sun had just disappeared behind the highest mountaintops, they had completed crossing the creek via a small dam. However, it was still bright enough for Peter to have a good look around.

Despite the late hour, the settlement was busy; several women were by the creek, maybe washing their laundry or fetching water to drink or cook with. A small fenced-in paddock off to the side housed a few skinny-looking mountains goats, and beyond it, there was a large fruit and vegetable garden. Counting the wooden huts that he could see, Peter estimated that the settlement housed maybe up to forty families, some of whom were now missing a member or two, seeing as several of Enzomian's men had died by the Narnian army's weapons.

Peter couldn't help feeling sorry for the women, but it had been Enzomian and his men who had attacked. If they had come to Narnia in peace and with diplomatic intentions, Peter thought, they would have been invited to discuss trading agreements or even negotiate about having some land of their own where they could build another settlement. Life in Narnia's rich forests could only be easier than up here in the mountains.

But, instead, Enzomian and his men had waited in hiding, attacked the Narnians and taken them prisoners.

Peter still wondered why. His best guess was that they wanted the Narnians to work for them as slaves. Additionally, Peter and Edmund were valuable hostages to them, being the kings of Narnia. Somehow, though, Peter doubted that Enzomian had fully realised that yet.

The captives were led to the shabbiest of all huts; it looked more like a shed or stable than a place where humans were supposed to live – and it wasn't furnished, either. Inside, there was merely a haystack in the far corner. The hay was wet and mouldy; Peter could smell it all the way from where he was standing by the now locked door.

Soon after their arrival, the door was unlocked once more, and another group of Narnians were shoved inside; two black dwarfs – Aisikke and Ehmi by name, if Peter wasn't mistaken – and a group of around ten fauns and satyrs.

Peter realised that these had to be the missing citizens who had caused the whole party to set off to the western parts of Narnia. So, they had found them … but what did it matter, now that they were captured themselves?

After everybody had told their stories, Peter, Edmund, Carron and Roak held a small council away from the group.

"We need to get at least one of us out," said Carron. "Someone who can make it back into Narnia and fetch the cavalry, lead them here." He fixed his eyes on Edmund – who was, after all, still in charge of the mission.

"I agree with you," said Edmund, nodding grimly.

Peter gazed over at his little brother, thinking that he was still worryingly unemotional. Not a single tear he had shed yet – not for the life of his friend, tutor and military advisor, Alroy, and not for any of the others they had lost along the way. It concerned Peter, but he was determined not to bring it up. Not yet. They had to stay focused on the task of finding a way out of this mess.

"I'm the fastest, so my suggestion would be for myself to go," suggested Roak. "Although, of course, I would hate to leave you all behind. But it's the most logical choice, and I daresay that you, my Kings, will be far safer here than out on the run."

"He's right, Majesties," agreed Carron. "My guess is that the worst for you here would be to work on the fields and in the gardens, or help finish that new hut that we saw down by the creek. That should be sufficiently safe ... always assuming, of course, that none of us will oppose these men's orders."

When he turned his head, Peter wasn't surprised to find a distinct look of dissatisfaction on Edmund's face. He could sympathise. He also didn't like that they would have to sit tight and wait, but had to admit that he saw sense in Roak's suggestion.

"He's right, Ed," he said, nudging his brother in the side with his elbow. "Neither of us should go. When the chance arrives, let the lieutenant make an escape and fetch the cavalry."

Edmund hesitated, but just when Peter was sure he was going to object, his brother heaved a deep, weary sigh and nodded in agreement.

X

It was very late in the evening when the door to the shed was unlocked once more. A wiry woman carrying two buckets stepped inside and, without a word, thrust both buckets at Edmund, who was nearest to the door.

Once again, he had positioned himself a little away from the rest after their council was through. He knew that it concerned Peter; he could practically feel his brother's stare boring into his back. But he just couldn't bear the elder's affections now. Not when he was in charge and responsible for all the lives inside this shed. He couldn't afford to become distracted.

Sniffing at one of the buckets and then looking in carefully, Edmund was very nearly sick. Inside, there was a most unappealing mix of nearly rotten, unpleasant-smelling meat – probably goat meat – and chunks of old bread mixed up with something slobbery that looked like porridge. The other bucket, thankfully, was filled with cool, fresh water.

After setting both buckets down, Edmund knelt in front of the one with water in it. Using both hands, he scooped up some of the liquid and drank it greedily. Then he took a little more and splashed it over his face, rubbing off some of the grime and dust from the day.

After he was done, Edmund stood up and carried the pots to the back of the hut, where the others had gathered together. He quietly set down the buckets, then went back to the door, where he sat on the ground and pulled his legs up close, hugging them tightly to try and keep himself warm as best as he could.

As expected, sleep eluded him that night. He sat for a long time, listening to his soldiers' and subjects' even breathing, and brooded over the recent events.

Peter would probably not agree, but Edmund could not help blaming himself for the situation they were in. Every decision along the way had been his, especially that fatal one to visit Farford with such a small company.

Why hadn't he taken Skygrace's report about humans having been seen around Farford more seriously? If he had, Alroy might still be alive and Edmund might not have had to witness his head being chopped off and his blood seeping into the soil at that beautiful place, back in sweet Narnia.

"Ed?"

It was Peter. Cautious in the darkness of the shed, Narnia's magnificent High King came scuttling over on all fours. Edmund could only just make out his outline.

"Peter, you're supposed to be asleep," he whispered.

"So are you." Settling himself next to his brother, Peter sighed deeply. "Instead, you're probably brooding again ... beating yourself up with guilt, aren't you?"

Edmund merely let out a low grunt, which was neither confirmation nor denial.

"I know how you feel, Ed … but it isn't your fault that we're here now."

"Shut up, Peter."

"I'm just saying," Peter continued stubbornly, "that I am responsible for any of this as much as you are. I've been a horrible advisor so far … but neither of us could have known what lay in wait at the lake. And we'll make it out of here soon, won't we?"

When Edmund again offered no reply, Peter poked his brother's upper arm gently with his finger.

 _"Won't we, Ed?"_ he repeated, a little more pronounced.

"We must," said Edmund. As he shifted a little to get more comfortable, he felt Peter edge yet a little closer, and then his brother's arm snuck around his tense shoulders, pulling Edmund tightly towards him.

Despite himself, Edmund couldn't quite suppress a grin, though the darkness hid it. Part of him wanted to wriggle out of Peter's embrace, but a much larger part secretly enjoyed the comfort it brought. _And it probably makes it all easier for the old dafty,_ Edmund thought.

Not long after that, Narnia's Just King finally fell asleep, his head resting comfortably in the crook of his brother's neck.

X

The next day began early. This time it was a young man, about Peter's age, who barged in, carrying a fresh bucket of water for the prisoners. He kicked Peter in the shin to wake him up.

But Peter was awake already. Just before the boy – for he wasn't really much more than that – could kick Edmund as well, Narnia's High King sat up and sent a glare at the youth, saying, "No need to deal out further pleasantries; I'll have them all awake in five minutes."

The youth glanced down at him, dark eyebrows raised. Then he shrugged and kicked Edmund in the side anyway, chuckling at Peter's furious expression. "See to it that everybody is up when I return. Then I'll show you where you'll be working today."

He walked out, and when he returned several minutes later, Peter and Edmund had woken everybody and they were all standing by the door, waiting with solemn expressions on their faces.

Smirking scornfully, the youth told them, "I will be in charge today. You'll do everything I say. And – most importantly – you won't speak. Not to me and not to each other, are we clear?" He directed his hard stare at the dwarf Ehmi, who avoided his eyes by looking down at the ground, making Peter wonder what punishment he might already have had to endure. "If you don't obey my rules, you'll become acquainted with our whip, and everybody here shall enjoy watching." He came a little closer to Peter, sniffed and pulled a face. "And, just so you know … you smell."

 _Yes, and no wonder,_ Peter thought. After exertion of walking uphill for almost two full days without getting a chance to wash – for lack of break and lack of water – he expected nothing else but to be rather smelly. He opened his mouth to retort, but the youth glared at him before he could.

"Ah-ah-ah, what did I just say? You're not to speak. Now, get going, all of you! There will be a chance to wash up at the creek once your day's work is done."

The said ' _day's work_ ' was to bring in wood for a new hut which was to be built. Peter, Edmund, Carron and the other fauns and satyrs were ordered to go into the nearby forest west of the settlement, cut down trees and chop the wood into smaller pieces. Roak, the cheetah, was brought along as well, tied to a small cart, which was no doubt meant for carrying back the wood later. The dwarfs, however, their strength and endurance obviously underestimated because of their small heights, were placed to work in the gardens.

The young man led the group of Narnians to a place where many tree stumps bore witness to the fact that Enzomian's people had been cutting down trees for a while. The group was also accompanied by two older-looking foreigners. From their conversation, Peter gathered the information that their names were Pau and Cescian and the youth was named Diteros.

The three of them mostly just oversaw their slaves' work, but also took turns in helping cut down the trees. Around noon, though, they enjoyed a small break, sitting comfortably by a fire on which a pot of something was cooking. Peter couldn't help glancing over. At the faint smell of food, his stomach protested loudly against being left out; all they had been given by Diteros that morning was a bucket of water.

Even for that, Peter would have been grateful now. After working hard all morning, his mouth was dry and his tongue seemed to be sticking to it. He knew that if this carried on for another few days, he would soon suffer from dehydration.

He shot a glance at Edmund. His brother was busy chopping up large pieces of wood. Sweat gleamed on his forehead and he had rid himself of his doublet and rolled his shirt sleeves up. When he sensed Peter's eyes on him, Edmund looked up from his work and their eyes met. Their captors were adamant about not letting them speak to each other, but Peter didn't need to speak to Edmund to know that his brother was having the same thoughts.

 _How do we get Roak out so that we can flee from here?_

They had been given axes to chop the wood with. Armed with those, Peter knew they might be able to overwhelm the three men. But there was nowhere to go from here. Steep, inaccessible cliffs surrounded the forest; the safest way back to Narnia (without becoming lost in the mountains, where canyons or other insurmountable obstacles could come in the way) was to follow the creek that flowed eastward. But, to reach that, one had to pass the settlement, which was full of men who were ready to stop anyone who tried.

All afternoon, Peter kept brooding, but didn't come up with a satisfying solution

By the time the three men ended their work schedule for the day, the High King of Narnia felt faint with hunger and exhaustion. More than ever, he needed to wash; he could barely endure his own sweaty smell. As they crossed the settlement, headed for the creek, the sun was almost down. And the evening chill was much more pronounced up here in the mountains than it had been down in the woods of Narnia.

 _Sweet Narnia …_

How could they reach it? Staring at the creek as it wound its way, parting the meadow until it disappeared somewhere between the rocks a couple of miles away, Peter let out a deep sigh.

How could they reach their home?

"Peter?" His brother's voice interrupted his thoughts, making him look up. "Aren't you going to wash?"

Standing knee-deep in the water, his breeches rolled up and shirt off, shivering in the autumn breeze, Edmund was looking at Peter expectantly. He even grinned a little. "I am not going to sit near you tonight if you don't get rid of that smell, you know ..."

Peter let out a laugh and bent down to take off his boots and socks and roll up his own trouser legs. When he stepped into the water, he almost let out a rather undignified shriek; it was ice-cold. Carefully, he waded further in, then unlaced his shirt, pulled it off and threw on the grass. He knew he would have to wash his clothes at some point, too. But right now, the thought of having nothing but cold wet clothes when he got back to spend the night in the cold shed was unbearable.

He drank to his heart's content, then rinsed himself thoroughly before he waded back and pulled his clothes back on.

Accompanied by Diteros and Cescian, the Narnians were brought back and locked up again. Food, along with some more water, had already been provided. It was the same, smelly, unappealing mix of old meat, dry bread and slimy porridge as they had had the day before. Of course, Peter was hungry enough to eat anything.

While chewing, albeit with difficulty, Peter made it a point to watch his brother closely until he had seen him eat at least a few bites as well. The High King hadn't mentioned it, but he knew full well that Edmund hadn't touched any of the food last night. And considering that they hadn't been offered anything else all day, Peter was sure that there wouldn't be any other choice but to try and get down as much of this as they could.

They had to get out this mess very, very soon.

XXX

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** Extra long chapter for you this time. :) Hope you'll enjoy it! Please leave a review and let me know :)

Once more _**realismandromance**_ has done a wondeful beta-job which is highly appreciated!

XXX

A couple of days went by, all of them passing in the same way as the first; they were woken early, given a drink of water and sent to the forest to labour; afterwards, they went back to their hut, where they were fed the same unpleasant, stinking mix of leftover food. Every other day, they were also given a chance to wash at the creek.

After a while, Peter became increasingly worried that the lack of proper food might turn into a real problem very soon. Malnourished as they all were, the High King wondered for how long they would be able to make it through the day's work without breaking down.

 _At least_ , he thought one evening, as he tried to chew an especially stringy piece of meat, _I am able to keep the stuff down_.

Which was more than could be said about Edmund on most days.

Peter's thoughts were roughly interrupted when the door was unlocked and in came Enzomian, wearing a nasty grin that stretched from one ear to the other. Behind him were two men Peter had not seen before.

Enzomian pointed at the kings and said curtly, "Those two. The humans."

"Yes, my lord," said the two men.

Before he knew it, Peter felt a strong grip on his arm pulling him to his feet. Next to him, Edmund was also yanked upright.

Enzomian led them out of the shed and through the village to a place by the side of the small creek, where a few more of the foreigners had gathered together. They were sitting on simple wooden stools that circled a fire, and looked at Narnia's kings expectantly. Peter saw Cescian and Diteros among them as he and Edmund were pushed to the middle of the circle.

"I'm sorry I haven't yet had the time to make sure you were properly entertained," said Enzomian. "But, I'm intending to make up for it tonight."

Peter felt as if it were more likely to be the other way around; he and Edmund were to entertain them. But, for now, both kings remained silent. Glancing over in the flickering firelight, Peter could see that Edmund was chewing on his bottom lip, no doubt having some hot-headed reply in mind and holding it back with difficulty.

In the past few days, poor Edmund had again been everyone's favourite target for any kind of taunting and mockery. Diteros, the youth who was barely more than a boy himself, had especially taken great pleasure in pestering Peter's younger brother. It was hardly bearable for Peter to watch, especially when he was certain that – thanks to endless training sessions and all the tricks Alroy had taught him – Edmund could probably wrestle Diteros down in a matter of minutes, should he get the chance.

Enzomian spoke up again. "I heard you're both kings of a place called Narnia … what does that make you? A very unnatural kind of couple?"

"We're brothers," said Peter, through gritted teeth.

"Really?" Enzomian raised his thick dark brows. "Brothers, eh? You don't look like brothers to me. And, if so, I still don't understand why that makes you both kings."

"Things are different in Narnia from what you may know," Peter explained, keeping his voice calm. "Narnia is very special."

This made their captor and his men snort and roar with laughter.

"All right, then." Enzomian finally picked up the conversation again. "I still find that strange and hard to believe … but, fine. Still, I keep wondering why it's him who has command over you and your soldiers" – he stood up, walked over and gave Edmund a hard shove, making him stumble sideways a few steps – "when it's quite clear he's barely more than a little boy."

As Peter watched, his anger became harder and harder to suppress. But he forced himself to remain focused. "You'd be surprised."

Enzomian had a wide grin on his face that bared his yellow teeth and – in the flickering light of the fire – gave his face an oddly distorted look. "Well, I think I should like to be surprised," he said. "Show me your abilities, both of you." A wicked glint came to his eyes. "Fight against each other."

"We don't have any weapons," said Edmund, his voice low and composed. He sounded perfectly unemotional, but Peter knew that his brother was boiling inside.

Enzomian roared with laughter as he replied, "Nice try, young one. No, we certainly won't give you any ... but you can wrestle."

"No," said Peter, without even thinking. These men had already taken too much of their dignity; he wasn't going to fight his brother as entertainment for them. He turned to meet Edmund's gaze and was surprised to see that there was a tiny grin tugging at the corners of his brother's mouth.

"Ed?" he asked, eyebrows drawing together. "You're not planning to comply, are you?"

"Well, I've always wanted to knock you onto your backside," said Edmund, his grin widening. His eyes, however, were staring at Peter with their usual graveness, and it was only then that Peter realised.

 _Come on, dafty – don't you get it? This might be a chance to create some uproar, and if we manage to grab hold of some of their weapons … well, we might not get a better chance for a while yet._

Understanding, Peter did his best to grin back at his brother. "Ok … come here, then, if you think you can knock me down."

"I'll go easy on you, brother," said Edmund with a sarcastic smile, as he launched himself at Peter.

The last time the two brothers had wrestled each other must have been some years ago, when Edmund had been still too small to stand a chance against his big brother. And, of course, all the tricks he had learned were no help against Peter, because Peter knew them all.

Now, Peter found that he couldn't beat his little brother as easily as before. Although Edmund was still the smaller of the two, Peter was honestly surprised at the strength his brother had, especially if he considered what they had gone through these past few days – all the hard labour, meagre food and short uncomfortable nights.

They fought for a while, steadily drawing nearer to the man called Cescian, but pretending to not realise it. In truth, Cescian had been well chosen, and it had needed nothing more than a bit of eye contact between the brothers to agree on that. Cescian was obviously the eldest of those gathered around them, and he made a weaker impression than the rest.

He was also armed with daggers strapped to his belt on either side of his torso.

When the kings were close enough, both Peter and Edmund suddenly launched themselves at the elder man, and while Peter grabbed hold of Cescian, his brother yanked both daggers from the belt and cut the man's throat with one quick smooth move. The moment Peter let go of the bleeding body, the old man fell to the ground, holding his neck and making his last, gurgling, sounds.

There was no time to regret the loss of a life; the other men had also pulled their daggers.

No words were needed between the two kings as they each turned, now armed, to the man closest to them and fought.

Without the longer reach of a sword, the fight turned into something of a peculiar dance, and Peter found himself struggling as he tried to thrust his dagger into his opponent's chest, while keeping his own body away from the other one's blade at the same time. He had the advantage of being slimmer and quicker, but his opponent was strong and probably had not been starved for the course of several days.

Knowing that it wouldn't be long before more of the inhabitants of this settlement heard fighting and came out of their huts to help their people, Peter decided to risk everything. He threw himself at his opponent with all his weight, narrowly dodging the other's dagger. The blade cut into his oversized leather tunic, but it didn't even graze his skin. However, Peter's own weapon cut into the man's throat and opened his main artery, making him die the same terrible death as Cescian had, barely a few minutes before.

Peter turned to see what Edmund was doing. The younger king had taken on Diteros, who was now lying in a bloodied heap at Edmund's feet – severely wounded but not dead.

 _That probably just serves him right,_ thought Peter, and seeing a chance to slip past the remaining men – hoping they would be fast enough – the High King whispered, "Run!"

And they ran.

X

They ran until their lungs were burning and breathing became painful. Edmund found himself involuntarily reminded of a very unpleasant flight he had once had to make from the house of a giant family when he had been eleven years old. Back then, though, he had been much smaller and he hadn't been used to such exertion.

Now, after years of constant physical training, he had built up much more stamina and had become rather fast. Not yet fast enough to keep up with Peter, whose longer legs gave him an advantage, but certainly fast enough to increase the distance between himself and their pursuers.

Thank Aslan – the men had fallen behind a good bit.

Not knowing what else to do, the kings followed the creek, stumbling alongside the flowing water as best as they could. It was dark, and when he turned, Edmund could only just make out the silhouettes of their pursuers in the moonlight. They seemed determined to catch up, but they were all older than him and Peter. Their aggression might have made them dangerous, but the kings had what counted more in this situation: the advantages of youth. Speed. Agility. Endurance.

Edmund was almost enjoying the run, despite the burning pain in his lungs. He felt free. He would get back to Narnia and return with Oreius and the army, get his subjects out of there and –

A rustling noise, followed by a muttered curse, caught his attention.

" _Oof_!"

Edmund realised that Peter was no longer running by his side.

"Pete? Are you all right?"

"Yes," came a hiss from behind Edmund. "I just stumbled. Blasted rocks lying about ..."

Edmund grinned to himself, knowing well that Peter could not see his amusement in the darkness.

"Being a bit clumsy, brother mine?" he asked innocently.

"Shut up, Ed," grumbled Peter.

Edmund bit back a snicker, then cautiously walked back to where Peter had just rearranged himself into a sitting position. "Do you reckon we're still being followed?"

They both listened. But, apart from their own laboured breathing and the gurgling sound of water running down the creek, they didn't hear anything.

"Maybe they gave up on catching us," Peter muttered. "Although, it seems unlikely. They know that if we get back to Narnia safely, we'll come back with a whole army in tow. And we'll know where to find them."

"So, that means that even if they did give up for now, they'll be after us tomorrow with all of their forces."

"Probably."

"So, we'll have to get as far as we can tonight," Edmund concluded.

"At least far enough to get a sufficient head start," agreed Peter. "We can hide ourselves in the rocks we saw beyond the meadow, just a couple more miles from here. In the plain open, we'll be spotted as soon as the sun dawns."

"Well, let's go, then. Up you get."

Peter got to his feet, moving a little awkwardly, which Edmund noted with concern.

"Are you hurt?"

"Well, I'll have a few bruises, thank you very much ... but other than that, no harm was done."

They went on much more cautiously, no longer running at top speed, but alternating between a swift walk and an easy jog. They allowed themselves a few breaks to drink some water, and after a while, they finally reached the area where the creek started winding through a rockier part of the mountains.

Now, the way became more difficult, especially because it was night. The pale moonlight didn't allow for them to properly see where they put their feet, and after a while, Peter finally sighed.

"It's no good, Ed. We need to stop here for the night before one of us stumbles and breaks a leg."

Edmund briefly considered arguing, but he knew Peter was right. They would need an hour or two of sleep.

There was a short discussion between the two brothers on who should rest initially and who should watch, but it didn't take Edmund as long as he had feared to make Peter accept that he should be first.

Part of Edmund knew that it was not a good sign; Peter must be still affected by his recent illness if he was giving in so easily. Worriedly, he watched as his brother got settled, his back propped against solid stone, and soon started snoring softly.

As the night passed by, the moon disappeared behind thick clouds and the air became moist. The place they had chosen to spend the night was sheltered from wind, but it wasn't a cave, and when a light drizzle set in, it became most unpleasant.

Edmund wondered if he had become used to freezing by now – if so, it was obviously not enough. Cautiously, so as to not wake Peter, he scrambled closer to his brother for warmth. It was already past the time that he should have wakened him, but he didn't have the heart to do that just yet. Instead, he tried his best to keep his mind busy and stay alert until the morning dawned.

X

Peter woke with a start, realising that there was already a faint morning glow in the sky. He sat up straight, his back aching slightly, his eyes in search for his brother.

But he was alone. Where was Edmund? In an instant, Peter was on his feet, eyes darting around. He didn't dare call out, not knowing where their pursuers might be. Had they found them? But if so, why would they just take his brother and leave him?

"Edmund?" His voice was barely above a whisper.

No answer.

Peter was getting nervous. Subconsciously, he moved his hand to where he had stuck the dagger into his belt, but it was gone as well.

"Come on, Ed, this isn't funny," he grumbled, as he started moving around. It was still very early, and the sun wasn't up yet.

Peter climbed up the ledge beyond which they had settled down at night, but there he saw only the creek gurgling downhill and a couple of small bushes. No sign of Edmund.

 _Just you wait until I get my hands on you_ , Peter thought.

It was only now that he noticed the drizzle. The sky was, for the first time in days, heavily overcast, and Peter realised that he was soaked. Cold, too. Hugging himself, he settled back down to where he had spent the night and started thinking.

What now?

Suddenly, something hit his head from above. It was a pebble. Peter picked it up and stared at it, puzzled. Where had that come from?

Sure enough, another tiny little stone hit him, this time falling right into his lap. Drawing his brows together, Peter got up, steadying himself against the rock. Another pebble came flying, but missed him this time. Then he heard a familiar snicker.

"Edmund!"

The snicker turned into full-on laughter, and a pale face appeared behind another ledge, which Peter had only a minute ago believed to be part of a wall of solid rock.

"Just making sure you didn't get too comfortable, you lazy bugger."

If there was one thing that Peter cherished and despised at the same time about his brother, it was his sense of humour that would pop up at the most unlikely moments. But he also admired it, for he didn't know where Edmund took it from, especially when it was obvious that he was totally worn out. His face, pale even on a good day, was nearly white, and his eyes were red and shadowed with fatigue.

Peter also couldn't remember when either of them had last eaten a full meal.

"Where have you been?" he scolded, but gently.

Edmund smirked, climbing over the ledge and holding out his hand. "Finding us some breakfast."

A few wild berries lay on his palm, and he offered them to Peter. "And keep your shirt on – if anybody came, I'd have been there to rescue you," he added smugly.

"You did take my dagger, didn't you? That's the least you could have done. But why didn't you wake me?"

Edmund chuckled. "You've never needed that beauty sleep of yours more than now ... I didn't dare interrupt it."

Peter snorted and swatted him on the arm. "In that case, you should look in the mirror before making such compliments."

Edmund rolled his eyes.

Peter took the berries and tried them. Sour, but better than nothing. "Have you eaten some yourself?" he asked.

Edmund nodded. "Yes." He patted his middle with a sardonic smile. "Delicious."

At that, they both allowed themselves a moment of easy laughter before Peter finally sobered up enough to remind Edmund that it was time to move on.

The High King didn't like that his brother would be going on without having had any sleep at all, but it couldn't be helped. The longer they waited, the higher the risk of being caught would be. So, they resumed to following the creek, hoping but not knowing for sure (because the sky was so overcast) that they were still headed east.

The weather did not improve, and both kings were wet through from the drizzle, with no chance of getting dry any time soon. Peter's hands were so cold that they felt numb, and he wondered if he would even be able to whirl his dagger, should they be attacked.

Around noon, the flowing of the water suddenly sped up, rushing more steeply downhill, and then the creek finally ended in a waterfall at a steep cliff.

They stood on the edge, staring downwards. Down below them, the waterfall ended in a pool, and from there on, flowed on into a thick forest leading towards a lake with a pretty clearing by its side. Peter recognized the place at once – they stood about a hundred yards above Farford.

A hundred yards away from sweet Narnia, with no chance of reaching it – or so it seemed.

At least, climbing down didn't seem like an option to him. There was little to hold onto on the rock wall, and the stones were all wet. They would end up breaking their necks if they tried.

Peter cast a look at Edmund, and noticed that his brother had the same longing in his eyes that the High King felt. "How do we get down?"

Peter shrugged. "We need to walk along the edge – see if we can find the way through the gorge that brought us up here."

Edmund looked unconvinced. "That must be miles away ... remember? We needed almost two full days to get to that plateau."

"I know," said Peter, through gritted teeth. "What else do you suggest?"

Edmund didn't answer right away; he chewed on his bottom lip, staring down the side of the cliff pensively until Peter began to realise what he was thinking.

"You're not considering climbing down, are you?"

"It would be the fastest way. And I don't think they would follow us."

"How can you be sure?"

Edmund shrugged. "They're old blimps; I don't suppose they could do it!"

Scratching the back of his head, Peter gave his brother a sceptical look. "Even if you're right, what if they are already on their way through the gorge to wait for us down there?"

Edmund gave him a grim look. "We'll have to be quick." He pointed at a ledge about five yards below, then at another one which was a little further down. "We need to take it step by step, but we can do it."

Peter shook his head. "You must be crazy, brother mine."

Edmund smirked. "Thought you might say something like that." He rolled up his shirt sleeves. "I'll go first. You can watch me and make sure you put your clumsy feet where I put mine."

There were still a lot of things that Peter was better at than his little brother; however, climbing was not one of them – not on a good day and most certainly not now, with his hands stiff from the cold and his whole body shaking. He tried to follow every one of Edmund's movements, but couldn't help being slower.

They made their way down from one ledge to the next, always about five to ten yards between each. Secretly, Peter admired Edmund's skill, for his younger brother always seemed to find the right places to put his feet and hands. Peter himself almost slipped and nearly lost his grip more than once.

They had made it more than halfway down when Peter saw a movement above them from the corner of his eye. Glancing up, he saw Enzomian peering over the edge, about fifty yards above.

"Edmund, look up!"

His brother stopped mid-climb, looking up, and nodded grimly. "Yes, I saw them. They've been there for a couple of minutes, probably debating whether they should follow us this way."

"Do you reckon they'll try?"

"No, don't think so. Anyway, it's just a little further." He pointed at another ledge; this one was about twenty yards above the pool at the bottom. "From there on, we can jump the last bit. Even if Enzomian tries to go after us this way – and I shouldn't advise him to – he'll never be fast enough to reach us in time."

The smug look on his brother's face made Peter want to laugh and scold him at the same time. But instead, he just concentrated on climbing and keeping his footing. The idea of jumping down the last twenty yards, however, did not agree with him.

When they reached said ledge, he hesitated. "Are you sure the water is deep enough?"

"Positive," said Edmund. "When we passed the pool on our way up, I remember thinking how it reminded me of our trip to Terebinthia, two years ago. Remember?"

Peter did remember. After four days' worth of diplomatic meetings with the four Terebinthian Lords, each followed by formal banquets in the evenings, the four siblings had, on their very last day, spent a few relaxing hours in Terebintha's mountains. There had been a small creek where they bathed and enjoyed the hot sun on their skin, and Edmund and Lucy had taken to climbing the rocks and jumping down where the water pooled deep enough. Susan had not liked it, and neither had Peter, but both had known that if they said anything, it would do nothing but encourage their younger siblings to find even higher heights to jump from.

Now, Peter found himself at a height he did not want to jump from at all, but Edmund was insisting. "Go, Peter! Otherwise, I'll push you. _Go_!"

And Peter jumped.

XXX

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** Edited by the lovely _**realismandromance**_ here comes chapter 7 ... Enjoy :) _ **  
**_

XXX

The water in the pool was so cold that it temporarily took Edmund's breath away. And jumping from a twenty-yard-high mountain ledge into a pool this size was a bigger risk than he had let on to Peter. He made a mental note to make sure that Susan would never hear of this stunt, and he was quite sure that Peter would agree with him on that.

As he sank into the water, the impact of his fall was strong enough to push him all the way down, until he could feel the rocky ground beneath his feet. He used its solidity to push himself back up to the surface.

Peter had already scrambled out of the water and stood, dripping and shivering, on the side of the pool. He reached out his hand when Edmund swam towards him, and the younger took the offered help gratefully, letting the elder pull him out of the water.

A look up made it clear that Enzomian and his men were no longer standing on the edge, but they weren't climbing down either. Edmund could only assume that they were hurrying towards the gorge that was their safest way down. The Just King was glad that his assumption had proved correct and neither of the men thought himself skilled enough to climb down after the young kings.

But, even if it would take the men a while to get here, the kings knew that they had to move on. Edmund was about to head straight into the woods, but Peter grabbed him by the arm and pointed in the direction where the creek flowed on towards Farford. The clearing where they had been attacked lay only a couple of hundred yards away, and it was only then that Edmund remembered.

Rhindon!

Peter had dropped it there when they knew they were losing the fight. Neither of the foreigners had been able to pick up the High King's sword. It might still be there!

They jogged alongside the creek until they reached the clearing. As if to brighten the mood, the sky cleared up a little and few timid, yet pleasurably warming, rays of sunlight came through the treetops.

The place where they had fought several days before was still in almost the same state as they had left it. Bodies lay about, and there was the unpleasant smell of death all around. Edmund couldn't help thinking what a beautiful place it had once been. Now – at least for him – it would always be overcast with dark memories of the fight, Alroy's death and the stench of half-rotten corpses.

"There it is!" shouted Peter suddenly. He bent down and picked up his precious sword, beaming at the blade as he held it in front of him.

Edmund thought that, even dripping water and wearing that ragged oversized tunic Enzomian had given him, Peter had never looked more like the High King of Narnia than at that moment.

Well, he _did_ need a shave, of course – or, at the very least, a trimming of the scruffy beard he had grown over the past few days. Edmund grinned and subconsciously ran a hand over his own chin. That, at least, was something he didn't have to bother about for another year or two.

"So, what now?" said Edmund. He let his eyes drift across the plain, looking for further weapons the foreign men had not taken.

He did indeed find a dwarf-sized bow, half hidden beneath its dead former owner. The arrows, however, he had to pick from the bodies they had killed. A few more could be found stuck into tree trunks. He gathered as many intact arrows as he could and went to wash the soiled ones in the lake's clear water.

"We need to get away from here," said Peter. "Unless you want to sit here in hiding and wait for the cavalry."

"That doesn't sound like much of a plan to me," said Edmund absently, while inspecting his new weapon. Tentatively, he brought the bow up and put an arrow on the string, but it felt more like a toy to him than an actual weapon – its size being too small in proportion to a human body. Anyway, it might suffice for shooting a rabbit or maybe even a deer.

The problem was, Edmund wasn't much of an archer. And neither was Peter.

With a sigh, the Just King sent the arrow through the air. It hit a tree trunk about two feet away from the spot he had aimed at.

"Nice," Peter commented, probably thinking that the tree had been the actual goal. Edmund made no effort to correct that assumption.

"Let's get back to where we made camp before the attack," Peter said. "It's only a couple of miles away from here. We might be able to reach it before nightfall."

It was indeed their best option, and Edmund agreed. With another arrow ready on the string, he made to follow his brother, who had again picked up a swift pace, Rhindon held out in his right hand. The blade shone brightly in the growing sunlight.

Along the way, Edmund missed several chances to shoot when rabbits crossed their way; they were usually gone before the king could even aim. Each time, he caught sight of Peter glaring at him. The High King could become very cranky when he was hungry, and even more so when he repeatedly had to watch his would-be meal hop away safely. But all Edmund could do was shrug and walk on as if nothing had happened.

Then, they heard voices that were very faint at first, but soon loud enough to recognise. The most prominent one belonged to Orieus, General of the Royal Narnian Army.

 _Sweet Aslan, we made it_ _!_

Peter sped up a little and Edmund, dropping the bow, followed suit.

Then there was a shriek. A female voice.

 _Lucy_ _!_

"Peter! Edmund! You're alive!"

"And whole and healthy!" said the general, trotting towards them, the Valiant Queen on his heels.

"Well, I'm honestly not so sure about the last bit, but at least we're alive," replied Peter, and he scooped Lucy up into his arms as soon as he reached her. The next moment, though, he had to put her down again.

Edmund noticed that his brother was shaking with exhaustion. Overwhelmed by the relief of finally being safe, the High King dropped to his knees. A moment later, he fainted, and Edmund himself didn't fare any better.

X

Peter woke to the nice feeling of being dry and warm for once, but also to a pounding headache and the sound of his youngest sister's stern voice bossing the soldiers around.

"Now, how's the meat coming? They'll be awake soon, and hungry, that's for sure." There was a pause, and then, "why, but that's still half raw! We can't give them half-raw meat, especially not Edmund. He'll bring it right back up … What do you mean, even when he's half starved? _Especially_ when he's half starved. He has a tender stomach, and even more so when it's been deprived of food for a while."

Peter grinned, trying cautiously to sit up. On the cot across the tent, Edmund was still out of it – thank the Lion. If he'd heard Lucy's loudly spoken words, he would have been furious.

A minute later, the tent opening was pushed aside and Lucy came rushing in, shining hair curling about her sweet face.

"Oh, you're awake," she said with a warm smile, when she saw Peter looking at her. Beaming brightly, she strode towards him, and before he knew it, he was caught up in one of her bone-crushing hugs.

"Careful, Lu," he said gently, and grinned. "Your eldest brother is also half starved and weakened from hunger. You wouldn't want to suffocate him."

"Oh, you just heard me?" She laughed.

" _Everybody_ in the camp heard you," Peter confirmed, with a snicker of his own. "Well, save for the lazy lump over there, of course." He indicated their sleeping brother with a roll of his eyes.

"Thank Aslan!" Lucy laughed even harder. "He wouldn't have wanted me to blurt that out to the whole army the way I did."

"I won't tell him," promised Peter, winking at his little sister. "You just make sure that none of the soldiers will, once he's woken up."

"Which I hope will be soon," said Lucy, turning worried eyes on Edmund. "You both just managed a few bites of bread last night after we brought you here. You were so exhausted. We ought to get some real food into you."

As if to emphasise his sister's words, Peter's stomach gave an embarrassingly loud growl, and he nodded eagerly. "I can hardly wait," he said, thinking of fresh bread and meat. "Not that I'm that huge a fan of field rations, but you wouldn't believe what we were forced to eat during those last couple of days."

Lucy smiled, her eyes full of sympathy. "I'll go get you some of the pastries we brought from Cair Paravel. And, when he's awake, we can have a proper breakfast – all of us together." She nodded at Edmund.

"Sounds perfect," said Peter. With a little difficulty, he got up from his cot and stretched, then began to dress in fresh, warm clothes. Clothes that were his own. He felt a little sore, but at least he was more rested than he had been at any point since their capture.

Edmund, however, slept on. He had been asleep for more than twelve hours now, and it was making Lucy a little nervous – Peter could tell by the jittery way she hovered by his bedside.

"Do you reckon he needs a drop of my cordial?" she asked Peter.

"He's not wounded, Lu, just exhausted ... well, _beyond_ exhausted, probably." And Peter told her about their flight, including the night they had spent in the mountains, himself being the only one to get any sleep at all.

Lucy listened patiently, but the more he said, the tighter her mouth became. As rare as it might have been, the High King could tell that he was in for a solid scolding from his youngest sister, no less.

Sure enough, as soon as he had ended, Lucy drew her brows together and glared at him. She was about to open her mouth when a voice interrupted her before she could even start.

It was Orieus. "My Kings and Queen, would you kindly join us outside? We're holding a council and we need your input."

"Peter and I shall be with you in a minute," Lucy replied, frowning at Peter once more. "I would like to let Edmund sleep, though. See, his big brother just let him climb a hundred-yard cliff after over twenty-four hours without a proper rest."

Peter sighed. "I said I'm sorry."

"You'd better be." She swept out of the tent.

Head hung low, Peter followed her.

Outside, joyfully warm rays of sun and fresh, pleasant autumn air met him. He made himself comfortable by the fire and accepted with pleasure and gratitude the portions of food Lucy handed him, and soon asked for more.

It turned into a full breakfast rather than a mere snack. He couldn't help it.

As usual, his little sister was unable to be angry with him for long. While chewing on some bread herself, she watched him fondly as he downed his portions. Time and time again, she would reach out to pat his arm or caress his cheek with the back of her hand. She also made sure that he took a third helping after he had finished his second. Finally, he felt stuffed and had to decline the fourth helping she ordered for him.

They had not yet started holding council, because Peter wanted Edmund to be part of it. It took almost another hour before Narnia's Just King finally came to and quietly joined them by the fire.

Lucy let out a low gasp when she saw him; she made him sit and went at once to get more food from their supply storage, while Peter gave his brother a thorough look-over. With some unease, he noted that, despite the long time he had slept, Edmund looked far from rested. The past days had taken their toll on him; remembering all the physical exertion, paired with too little sleep at night (because of the cold), too little food (and his inability to keep down much of the little he had consumed) and the painful losses they had endured, it was no wonder.

Orieus didn't look very pleased at the sight of the younger king, either. But he didn't comment on it. He and the highest-ranking soldiers, including the cheetah Fizz, the faun Anjus and the centaur Castor, had gathered around the fire with their sovereigns.

Then, they all updated each other on what had happened.

Peter learned that, while he and Edmund had been held captive, Skygrace had flown back to Cair Paravel to inform Orieus, who had set out immediately with a party of reinforcements, taking with him Lucy and her cordial; against Susan's wishes, of course, but it couldn't be helped. There were quite a few gravely wounded soldiers who were in dire need of a drop of cordial.

Philip was one of them. Peter was glad to see that he looked perfectly well again now as he stood behind Edmund, munching carrots and gently nudging his human friend with his nose from time to time.

After Orieus had finished, it was time for Peter to tell their story. When he came to the part where he and Edmund had climbed down the cliff, the soldiers made awed expressions. While Lucy was doing her best to show how she disapproved of it, Edmund grinned. It was his first since he had woken up, and when his sister saw it, Peter noticed that she let go of her scowl and smiled as well.

After the High King had ended his tale, it was Orieus who spoke up first, taking charge as the next in command after the two still-not-fit kings. "If I may suggest, we should not lose too much time before we move into the mountains and get in contact with these people. If they see the strength of our army, they may let us negotiate those Narnians out of their imprisonment."

"No offence, General, but I don't think you'd manage to get there," said Edmund. "Neither would any other of the centaur soldiers, or the horses. The caves we passed were often too narrow; you wouldn't fit through."

"With all due respect, my King," replied the Centaur at once, "I am not going to let you go without me."

"So, we'll have to lure them down here, where we can fight them with the strength of all of Narnia's army," suggested Lucy.

"Well, they know they can't just let me and Ed go," Peter joined in. "Not now that we know where their settlement is and that they still have Narnians living there as slaves."

"True," agreed Edmund, with a curt nod. "But, if they have any brains at all, they must realise that it would be stupid to give up their advantage. They know their way around the mountains. We don't."

"Sire, if I may ..." It was Skygrace, the eagle. He had made himself comfortable by the fire, but as he spoke, he spread his wings demonstratively. "I could fly into the mountains and see from above. You can give me directions. I could help a great deal with assessing the situation."

"Not a bad plan at all, but you ought to be careful. They might know you for what you are if you stay too long and too close to them," said Edmund at once.

"Don't you worry, your Majesty," replied Skygrace. "I shall be swift and clever and go by unnoticed."

X

A couple of hours later, just before the evening meal was due, Skygrace returned, and Peter and Orieus decided together that they would hold another council before they ate. Looking for Edmund, Peter wondered where his little brother might have wandered off to. Neither Lucy nor Philip knew, either.

Peter was getting a little nervous. He hoped Edmund wasn't up to something stupid, but he didn't really believe so. They were both experienced warriors. Stupid actions had no place in battles; Edmund knew that as well as Peter did.

A hand laid gently on his arm interrupted his thoughts. "Have you found him yet?"

It was Lucy. Peter shook his head.

"He can't have gone too far," said Lucy. "He wouldn't be so silly as to wander off through the forest all by himself if we don't know how close these men really are, would he?"

Peter sighed. "No, he wouldn't."

"Have you looked in your tent?"

Drawing his brows together, Peter got up from the fallen tree he had been sitting on. "No," he said pensively. "No, not yet." He wondered why he hadn't thought of it. Maybe he had just assumed that Edmund wouldn't want to be sitting alone in the tent, but be amid the battle planning.

"Well, let's go then," said Lucy, pulling him along by his arm.

When they stood outside the kings' tent, Lucy called out loudly before they entered. "Ed? Are you in there?"

There was no answer, but Peter was suddenly sure that his brother was inside. He stuck his head through the opening and indeed found him sitting on the cot, his back turned to them.

"Ed? What are you doing?" He half-heartedly hoped that his brother was only lost in thought, but when the younger replied in a shaky, vicious voice, his hopes sank.

"Go away."

"What are you doing here?"

"I said, _go away_ , Peter."

Peter took a step backwards, letting the opening fall shut. He exchanged a look with Lucy and shrugged helplessly. "He's mourning. I guess you already heard what happened to Alroy ... I think we'd better leave him for a bit. I'll go and tell Orieus that we'll eat first and hold council later."

Lucy stared at him, open-mouthed. "You what? No, no, no ..." She shook her head. "I'll go speak with Orieus."

"Lucy –"

"Peter, you can't be serious. He _needs_ you. Go in there. Be there for him."

"In case you didn't hear it, he just threw me out. Why don't _you_ go? He'll respond much better to your comforting than to mine."

Rolling her eyes, Lucy was adamant. "It's Edmund, Peter. You know what he's like; he lashes out when he's hurting. He always does. But, I assure you that it's his big brother he needs now, not me. Get in there. _Now_!" She turned on her heels and was off, calling, "Orieus! Orieus! Ah, _there_ you are, General ..."

Peter sighed. Then, hesitantly, he stuck his head into the tent again. "I'm coming in now, whether you like it or not."

There was no reply.

Cautiously, Peter approached where Edmund sat, back still turned on him, legs pulled close and chin placed upon his knees. Peter's stomach suddenly tightened at the sight of his little brother; experienced warrior though he was, right now, he looked much more like the young boy Enzomian had seen in him.

The tension inside the tent was palpable. Peter tentatively drew nearer to the cot, awaiting another vicious outburst from Edmund at any moment. He cleared his throat. "I'm so sorry, Ed, for what happened."

The answer came in a surprisingly low and composed tone. "Not your fault."

"Neither yours."

Silence.

"Do stop blaming yourself," Peter said, moving closer to Edmund still, but only very slowly. He wasn't even sure if his brother was aware that he was moving. "I mean, cry if you need to. But please stop thinking you could or should have done anything differently."

Finally, Edmund turned his head to Peter – and the High King was relieved and devastated at the same time to see that it was tear-stained. His little brother had been crying silently all along. And that he was suddenly ready to let Peter see it was all the High King needed to know.

With two more long strides, he closed the distance between them and wrapped Edmund tightly into his arms, half fearing that his brother would change his mind and pull away.

Edmund didn't, but neither did he return the hug. Instead, he simply cried even harder, no longer caring to be quiet about it, but shaking with deep, rasping sobs.

It took a while until the sobs finally subsided, and when they did, Peter loosened his embrace and leaned back. "Feeling better?" he asked soothingly, both hands holding Edmund by the shoulders tenderly.

"A little." Edmund sniffed and wiped his nose on the back of his hand. "Sorry for that."

"Why? You have nothing to apologise for."

Another sniff, and then Edmund managed a very pale version of a smirk. "At least you got to cuddle me properly now ... been trying ever since we left the Cair."

Peter let out a snicker. "Don't say you've noticed. You weren't complaining about too much cuddling, though, when you were shaking with the cold at night, up there in the mountains."

"Didn't say I was." Edmund wiped the last traces of tears from his face with the hem of his undershirt, pulling it up in the process.

As his eyes fell on his brother's bared abdomen, Peter couldn't help letting out a sigh. "Edmund, could you do me a favour?"

Edmund smirked back at him and shrugged. "I might ... depends on what you want me to do."

"Please increase your food intake," said Peter. "Before we get home." _Before Susan sees you._

This caused Edmund to laugh. "Not unless you do too."

Peter grinned. "I'm on it."

"You should be," said Edmund, still laughing, although his eyes were serious. Then he stood up to get himself in order. He slipped into a clean, warm leather doublet, and while he buttoned it, he told Peter, "Thanks for being there for me."

"Anytime, Ed." The High King smiled. "Anytime."

XXX

 **A/N:** Oh dear ... looks like poor Edmund's kept all bottled up for too long ... good thing he has a big brother like Peter, eh? :)

Let me know what you think!


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** Hey guys! Happy New Year to everyone! I hope you haven't forogtten about Farford ... I must apologise for letting you wait so long! I got a little sidetracked by another fandom that reminds much much of my childhood ... But here is chapter 8 – _finally_! – edited as always by _**realismandromance**_ (Thank you so much!)

Enjoy ... and let me know what you think!

X

Surreptitiously, Edmund glanced over at Peter while chewing on a pastry, wondering if the old dafty would ever stop watching him. He'd already eaten more than he'd thought possible, and he'd certainly have to stop after the next bite or his stomach might burst – but Peter's attentive eyes were still fixated on him.

Of course, when he saw his brother glancing back at him, the High King quickly averted his gaze to somewhere else, making Edmund want to snort. _As if I didn't notice_ , he thought, half amused and half annoyed.

The evening meal was held in a peaceable gathering around the fire. The three sovereigns were perched close to the warming flames with their soldiers surrounding them. Everyone was calm and quiet.

 _The calm before the storm_ … Edmund reminded himself again that their adventure was far from over.

Orieus had decided to postpone all further planning until after they had eaten, arguing that they would all be able to think more clearly if they were supplied with enough energy. However, Edmund had his doubts about the general's arguments; the unfamiliar fullness of his stomach was making him feel tired instead of alert.

Peter, on the other hand, seemed enviably energetic. He had just put away an impressive amount of food, and now he was almost vibrating with the urge to get on with the battle planning. In comparison, Edmund felt a little inadequate. He thought back to when they left Cair Paravel, remembering clearly how much Peter had still been affected by his recent illness. Although their captivity should have made it all worse, at this moment it didn't seem to be the case. Or maybe Peter just hid it better than ever before.

 _Lucky fool might end up being in better shape by the time we get home than he was when we left_ , Edmund thought, and bit his lip to suppress yet another snort.

Finally, after everyone had finished eating, Orieus sent all but the higher-ranking officers back to their various duties or to get some rest. Those who remained were informed, through a detailed report from Skygrace, that the eagle had found the human settlement easily enough, thanks to the directions Peter had given him – and he had determined how to get the full strength of the army there without having to leave behind the horses and centaurs because of small, narrow caves.

According to Skygrace's assessment, Enzomian hadn't pursued the kings any further than to the cliff they had climbed down to escape him. Instead, it seemed as he had made his men return to their settlement and get ready to defend themselves against the Narnian attack – which he knew was sure to come thundering upon them.

"They had better be prepared," muttered Edmund, after the eagle had ended. He couldn't help the venomous tone that crept into his voice; he would have had more to say about it, but as the words required for that did not befit a king, he swallowed them down.

"Indeed," agreed Peter, sounding just as vicious as his brother. He had scrunched his face up in anger and his eyes seemed a darker shade of blue than usual. As their gazes met, Edmund almost smiled at the bitter look Peter wore; thanks to his jolly nature, Narnia's High King very rarely came to the point of despising people as much as he had come to despise Enzomian.

"Is there any way to get out of this mess without shedding more blood?" said Orieus into the silence that had followed after the kings' vicious muttering.

Thinking it through, Edmund had to admit that he had little hope that Enzomian wanted an agreement between his people and the Narnians. Of course, they would have to try taking the diplomatic path anyway. After all, they were Narnians, not barbaric savages!

It was quite simple, in Edmund's eyes; if he could get their enemy to give in and free the remaining prisoners either through negotiations or – as was the more likely scenario – through the threat their army posed, fine. If not, the Narnian army would run over their settlement and the Just King was quite prepared to do whatever it might take to free his subjects. A plan was beginning to form in his mind.

"I can't promise there won't be a battle fought, but I'll talk to Enzomian first," he announced. "To do so, I'll have to exchange myself for one of the Narnians still being held captive. Then, I'll try to negotiate."

At once, many pairs of eyes were directed at Edmund, most of them looking very worried. But it was Lucy who loudly spoke what the others were thinking.

"No! You can't let yourself be taken prisoner again," she exclaimed, bending forward and grabbing hold of his forearm. "I won't let you!"

For a hand as small as hers, her grip was unpleasantly tight, but Edmund shook it off. "I'll have to try to convince them to give in. I'm not sure yet how I can achieve that, but I think he might relent when he sees the strength of our army."

"He won't, Ed," said Peter. "You saw what kind of a person he is: all vicious and power-hungry. And as dumb as an ass." He paused, looking thoughtful. "But, I do agree about offering him a valuable hostage. If they have either one of us in their hands again, they might be misled to the conclusion that our army won't attack them – which we will still do, of course." He paused again and sighed, then added in a serious tone, "But I'm just as valuable a hostage as you are, Edmund. Why don't I go?"

Edmund rolled his eyes indignantly. "Because, Peter, you'd only manage to get him to kill the remaining prisoners if you tried to negotiate, that's why. You'd get yourself killed, too. Besides, you're my advisor on this mission – I'm in command."

Orieus cleared his throat. "Meaning no disrespect, Sire, but at the moment _I_ am the one in command, until you're declared healthy by a healer." He nodded at Lucy.

Edmund directed his attention at his younger sister. Lucy looked back, a little uncertain about what to say. She wasn't a fully trained healer – not yet, anyway – but of course it was she who knew her brothers best. If anyone could be trusted to determine if Narnia's kings were fit for battle or not, it was she.

Tentatively, Lucy cleared her throat and turned to face the eagle. "Skygrace?"

"Majesty?"

"Before we make any further decisions, how much time will we need to position our troops in reach of these men? Using the way you found for us, how long will it take to get there, up into the mountains?"

"About four days, Your Majesty," replied Skygrace. "We will have to travel south from here for at least half a day, then we can follow a path that winds its way up along the cliffs. It's a rocky, partially overgrown path, and it's steep in some places; it will require much of our soldiers' strength. They will need a day of rest before fighting a battle."

Lucy nodded. "I shall postpone my decision on declaring you and Peter fit until we reach the place where we shall rest for a day, Edmund," she said. "If, by that point, I think you're well enough, it will be you back in command. If I decide you're still too affected by what you've been through, Orieus will be the one who will make all further decisions." She turned to her eldest brother. "I'll make my decision if you shall fight or not at the same time, Peter."

Both kings were about to object, but secretly Edmund saw sense in Lucy's words. Biting back a snide comment, he finally sighed and announced, "So be it, then." And Peter reluctantly agreed.

After their council was over, Edmund turned to his friend Philip and suggested that they go for a little trip through the forest. Skygrace had confirmed that woods around the camp were clear; Enzomian's men were gathered together in the settlement, preparing for the expected attack and posing no danger within Narnian territory.

Philip whinnied joyfully in agreement to Edmund's suggestion. Chuckling lightly, Edmund patted the horse's neck and swung himself onto his back, not bothering to use a saddle or reins.

Philip fell into a comfortable gallop as soon as they had left the camp. Edmund was glad to see that his friend was fully healed and bursting with energy. The king clung to the thick mane, and soon he relaxed, thinking that for once he enjoyed being declared not-quite-healthy-yet by his younger sister. Her decision offered him the opportunity to ride through his beloved Western Woods and enjoy a chat with his closest Narnian friend while the soldiers were preparing for their departure under the stern eyes of Orieus.

X

"Excuse me, Sire?"

An unfamiliar voice made Peter look up from the bowl of porridge he was having for breakfast. A tall and very slender black stallion had positioned himself right in front of the High King, his neck bowed respectfully. He was blocking Peter from what little light the early morning sun was offering. Nevertheless, the High King smiled up at him. "Yes, my good horse. What can I do for you?"

"It's more of a question of what I might be able to do for you, Your Majesty," replied the horse. "I would like to offer you my services as your mount. According to my knowledge, you are in need of a horse, seeing as Adel unfortunately fell at the Battle of Farford."

Curiously, Peter got to his feet to have a closer look at the stallion. While he rounded him, he couldn't help patting him a couple of times; he was gorgeous! Talking Horses usually didn't take very well to being patted (except for Philip, if Edmund was the one patting him), but the stallion showed no signs of disagreement at Peter's treatment.

"You look young. I do wonder if you're strong enough to carry me," said Peter thoughtfully. "What is your name?"

"My name is Emil, Sire."

"Are you a fully trained soldier yet, Emil?"

"No, Sire; for now, I am merely Philip's apprentice. But I can carry you all the same. And, of course, I'll always be where Philip is."

Which meant that Peter could keep a close eye on his brother while they travelled. That seemed to be a bonus he couldn't renounce, so he nodded in agreement. "Very well then, Emil. At least while we're travelling, you may serve as my mount. But Philip shall decide if you're to take me into the battle or not – _if_ a battle is to be fought, that is."

 _And if I'm to attend_ , he added in his thoughts, reminding himself that Lucy would be the judge of that.

Half an hour later, everyone was ready for departure, including the three sovereigns. If truth be told, Peter would have preferred to send Lucy back to Cair Paravel instead of having her join the troops into the mountains. But access to her cordial was too important for them all, considering what might lie in wait, and she never let it out of her hands. So, Lucy rode with them, carried by Chalzedon, the unicorn who had once carried Peter into battles – years ago when the High King was younger and less experienced. Peter was glad to know that the unicorn would be a fierce protector for his little sister, should they be attacked on their way.

Lucy looked very calm and relaxed as she sat Chalzedon's back, taking in the view of the mountains that were rising spectacularly against the blue sky to the west. Every now and then, she would bend forward to whisper something into Chalzedon's ear and the unicorn would reply quietly. Then they would both share a laugh.

The troops moved south until noon and stopped for a short break before starting the ascent. The path wound its way upwards in many loops. It was rocky and overgrown with grass and vines, and they had to be careful not to stumble. To their left, the hillside sloped steeply downwards, while to their right, the rocks towered far above their heads. Sure-footed as he was, Orieus was in the lead, followed closely by a group of fauns, who were armed with bows and arrows.

Emil was a nervous horse, as Peter very quickly discovered. He could do with that while they travelled, but dreaded having to ride into battle on the young stallion's back. To make things worse, he had to ride bareback. There had been no saddle that fitted the slender horse properly. At the look of uneasiness on their brother's face while riding on Emil, both Edmund and Lucy were openly amused. Peter was sure they would be taking the mickey out of him if it weren't for Orieus' presence; luckily, the centaur general had very little sense of humour!

On the second morning at departure, Peter announced, "I'm going to walk for a bit this morning, Emil. The ascent is not nearly as steep as the way through the canyon we had to take with Enzomian. I'll do all right, I should think."

It was true; this part of the way was easy enough, and the High King saw no harm in using his own two legs for a while. He was certain that he wouldn't tire himself out too much by walking. After all, he was feeling better than he ever had since they had left Cair Paravel in the first place. Secretly, he wondered if Lucy had slipped a drop of cordial into his food or drink at some point, for he was no longer as bothered by his illness as he had been upon setting out all those days ago.

He glanced at Edmund, who also seemed to have recovered from the ordeal of being Enzomian's prisoner. However, Peter wondered if Edmund could keep up the good shape he was in. The High King had had the impression, during night-time, that once more his younger brother hadn't slept very well, and if this continued, it would soon have an impact.

As they moved higher and higher into the mountains, the two kings kept going through their battle plans; Edmund was still adamant that he should exchange himself for one or – if possible – two of the prisoners. Peter suspected that he was thinking about Aisikke and Ehmi, the two black dwarfs who belonged to Fritjof and Elka's clan.

The High King himself was torn between seeing sense in the plan and hating it at the same time. For one thing, he was quite sure that Enzomian was not the kind of man who negotiated. And then there was another thought that bothered Peter; what would Enzomian do with Edmund if the Just King of Narnia turned himself into his hands again? Would he want to take revenge for the men Peter and Edmund had killed or wounded before fleeing? Would he become violent and take his anger out on the young king? It was very likely.

"But – oh, bother, it can't be helped," Peter mumbled to himself, thinking it through once more.

"Huh?"

The High King looked up at Emil's curious voice, and forced himself to give a reassuring smile. "It's nothing for you to worry about, Emil."

The horse whinnied and directed his attention elsewhere, but Peter couldn't take his mind off his dark thoughts. Part of him wanted to just attack, but Enzomian would be quite prepared for that. An attack that the enemy wasn't expecting would give them a higher chance of winning the battle, and Peter wanted the Narnian hostages to be informed as well. Edmund would have to go in and get in contact with the other side.

Peter surely would have preferred to go in his brother's stead, but he had to admit to himself that he was not nearly as good at negotiating as Edmund. Manipulating Enzomian into considering himself safe was also something that only Edmund could pull off successfully.

If only Peter could spare him from turning himself in, but there seemed to be no way.

X

After travelling for days, the army finally reached the place where Peter and Edmund had spent the night after their escape. While they put up a camp, hidden in the rocks, Skygrace flew out once more to make sure that Enzomian and his men were unaware of their arrival. Meanwhile, Orieus positioned Anjus, the faun, and Fizz, the cheetah, high up in the cliffs so they could see all the way across the grassy plain to where the enemy's huts lay in the distance.

The three royal siblings gathered around the fire to rest. While eating a hearty meal, Edmund couldn't help glancing at Lucy every so often, wondering if she would declare him fit for command; for the past three days, he had followed every rule and obeyed every order she had given him – there should be some reward for him, he thought. He had eaten very well during their journey, almost as much as Peter – and that meant something. He hadn't tired himself out, either; Philip had carried him up into the mountains all the way.

But, unfortunately, Edmund's sleeping troubles had returned. After being unconscious for over twelve hours just after their escape, sleep had eluded Narnia's Just King once more for the past three nights, and he knew that this had not gone unnoticed by either of his siblings. He couldn't seem to do anything about it, either.

Orieus interrupted Edmund's thoughts. "Majesties, I would recommend that we all turn in early for the night and plan out our next steps in the morning."

The three sovereigns agreed. Edmund was just about to retire to his tent when Lucy held him back by grabbing his forearm. "Hang on, Ed – before you go, I'd like to have a word with you."

 _Here we go_ , thought Edmund, but he nodded and sat back down by the fire.

Lucy gave him one of her famous sweet smiles before rummaging through her little pouch, clearly searching for something. A moment later, she was holding a small bundle of herbs. "I found these on our way here," she explained. "It's a very rare plant called … oh dear, I forgot the name …" She scrunched up her nose thoughtfully.

"Never mind what it's called," said Edmund. "What about it?"

"I can brew some tea from those herbs that will make you sleep. Tomorrow you will need to be well rested if you want to be declared healthy by me."

Edmund smiled. "I was almost sure you'd decide against it."

Putting on her most serious face, Lucy replied, "I was rather tempted … To tell you the truth, I don't like your idea of you turning yourself back into their hands."

"Neither do I," said Edmund with a sigh. "I'm all ears, if you have a better plan."

Lucy didn't; that much was obvious. Edmund hadn't expected it, either, although he had secretly hoped for it; it seemed like such a dishonourable plan they had, based on manipulation and deceit. But it wasn't as if Enzomian didn't deserve it if he refused to negotiate. If only Edmund could talk some sense into the man – then there would be no more bloodshed.

"Ed?"

"Huh?" He looked up to find Lucy standing in front of him with a mug of steaming hot, strong-smelling liquid in her hand. He felt a sudden reluctance to drink the concoction she had brewed for him. But his sister remained quite firm on the topic.

"Either you drink it, or you can forget about being back in command in the morning," she told him.

"You can be worse than our dear Gentle Queen, Lu," he grumbled, before taking the mug from her. Holding his nose with two fingers, he carefully began sipping his tea. He had barely drunk half of it when suddenly a heavy weariness overcame him, and, in a slurred voice, he excused himself to stumble into his tent.

Morning came before he even realised he had fallen asleep.

X

 **TBC**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** Edited by the lovely **_R_ _ealismandromance_ ** \- many thanks as always!

Also thanks to those of you who reviewed! I love to know what you think!

XXX

Morning had just dawned in the east when Peter set foot outside his tent, around thirty hours after the army's arrival in the mountains. The High King had had an unpleasant night. He wasn't prone to sleeplessness, but for once he had found little rest until very deeply into the night. Concern about his brother had caused him to tense up so much that it had taken a long silent prayer to Aslan to get settled.

Everyone in the camp was already up and bustling about by the time the High King stepped into their midst. Edmund was standing a little offside, talking quietly to Orieus and Lucy. He was already wearing his iron-clad vest and bright red jerkin bearing the Lion emblem, and was busy fastening his swordbelt when he caught sight of Peter. He grinned at his elder brother, but Peter knew him well enough to tell that it was forced.

Hiding his yawn, the High King ran a hand through his hair, knowing that it was likely to be in complete disarray, but he didn't care. He walked over to his siblings and their army general and was greeted by Lucy with a peck in the cheek. Despite his tension, Peter had to suppress a smirk at the way she had to pull him down by the hem of his shirt so that she could reach his cheek with her lips. She was still so small – and yet, she was able to make him feel small at times.

"You're looking pale, Peter," she said. "Are you up for this?"

"You're asking me?" he replied, putting his arm around her. "You had better ask Ed, for he's the one who's about to turn himself over to the enemy."

"It'll be all right," said Edmund, nudging his brother in the side. "It's all well thought through. And I have as much faith in our army to get me and the others out of captivity as I have in Aslan to watch over me. Over all of us."

Peter sighed. _Aslan_ ... Edmund was right. Aslan would be watching over them. But no matter how reassuring the thought was, the anxiety that had settled in Peter's stomach wouldn't budge. He couldn't even eat more than a few bites that morning for breakfast – and looking over at Edmund, he saw that his brother's appetite was just as forced.

An hour after the sun was up and had chased away the morning mist, Skygrace flew up high over the mountaintops to survey what was happening within Enzomian's settlement. Around the same time, the Narnian soldiers began lining up, ready to march forward and into plain sight of their enemies.

Edmund mounted Philip's back and the horse stood proudly, flanked by Orieus and Castor at either side. Silently, with determined expressions, they all waited for Skygrace's return. The tension was nearly unbearable when the eagle finally reappeared in the sky above their heads. He flew directly to Edmund and announced, "The enemy is on the alert, Sire. We had better move out now."

"So be it," said Edmund solemnly. He turned to Orieus. "If you don't receive a message from the other side throughout the day, prepare for battle at night. I want you to lead the attack at the first light of dawn and make sure they have no time to execute the hostages when they realise they're under attack."

"It will be done, my king," said Orieus, with a dip of his head and a curt expression.

"Let's move out, then!" shouted Edmund, and he dug his heels lightly into Philip's sides to signal their departure. Flanked by the two centaurs, Philip moved slowly past the rocks that had hidden them from the enemy's eyes for the last thirty hours; behind him, the soldiers marched with Peter in the lead.

The High King had chosen to walk instead of riding on Emil's back. The nervous young horse had fulfilled his duty by carrying him over large parts of the strenuous walk into the mountains. This morning, Peter wasn't expecting to go anywhere far. However, if the battle would ensue in the morning, he had been granted allowance to be carried by Philip himself – who would be without his usual rider – and was more than grateful for that. No mount would be safer.

The Narnian army lined up on the far side of the meadow that separated the place they had camped from Enzomian's settlement. Edmund, Philip and the two centaurs were positioned a few steps ahead of the rest, while Peter stood in line with the foot soldiers. A couple yards away from him, the stream was gurgling merrily, and he thought back to the night he and Edmund had run from captivity together.

From where he stood, the High King could see the group of huts very well in the distance, and it didn't take very long until the men on the other side had also lined up. Yes, Enzomian had expected their return.

"It's time now," said Edmund, twisting himself around on Philip's back to catch his brother's eye. "I'll see you all tomorrow, at the latest." He nudged his mount's sides gently, and the horse and the two centaurs moved forward across the meadow.

 _Aslan, do watch over him_ , thought Peter as he had his eyes fixed on his brother's retreating back, thinking that he looked very small and slim between the two muscular centaurs, even if his iron shoulder plates made him seem wider.

The men on the other side seemed to have realised that the Narnians were sending out a messenger. A group of men stepped forward to meet the small party.

It took a while until they met – and another while before anything else happened. But then two of Enzomian's men went back to their settlement, returning minutes later with the two black dwarfs in tow. This part of their plan had come together. Now things were getting serious for Edmund, and Peter felt his stomach knot up painfully. He watched as his brother slipped down from the saddle and handed his sword over to Orieus. Then the two black dwarfs were helped onto the centaurs' backs by their Just King, before Enzomian grabbed Edmund by the hem of his jerkin and turned him so that one of his men could bind his wrists together.

After that, the two groups parted – and Philip, Orieus, Castor returned with the dwarfs.

X

If Edmund had expected he would have a chance to set up a diplomatic discussion with Enzomian, he would have been bitterly disappointed. The moment he handed his sword over and Orieus and Castor had turned their backs, the young king was given a hard push, making him stumble forward. He caught himself before he fell, but was given another shove that made him go down on his knees. He had expected this kind of treatment, though, and was prepared for anything else that might come.

He scrambled back to his feet and was shoved a third time. _Aslan's Mane_ – Enzomian and his men really had no idea how to treat a diplomatic messenger with grace and dignity! All the way back to their settlement, Edmund crawled more than he walked. Every time he stood upright for a few steps, Enzomian pushed him down again, but knowing full well that his troops were witnesses to all this, albeit from afar, Edmund didn't give up on trying.

They didn't take him to the shed where the other prisoners were held, but into one of the other cabins – probably the home of one of the men.

Inside, this hut was furnished, but there was little more in it than a bed, a few roughly built chairs, a wooden chest and a fireplace to keep its inhabitants warm in winter nights. A woman stood by the fireplace, staring at Edmund with wide eyes, and a boy roughly his age, in very rotten and torn clothes, was crouching in the far corner. He was an unhealthily skinny lad, with hollow cheeks and eyes that seemed much too large for his thin face.

Enzomian didn't give Edmund much time to take in his surroundings. He shoved the young king once more, making him fall over, and then the men built a circle around him. Enzomian stepped forward, dagger in hand.

"I should cut you into pieces," he said.

"You cannot kill me," replied Edmund at once. He surprised himself by how confident he sounded. He felt scared of the cruel man, but wasn't going to let it show. With ease, Edmund got back to his feet and returned Enzomian's dark, dangerous gaze with a calmness he wouldn't have expected himself capable of just a moment ago. "I am your only way out of a battle you cannot win." He paused, trying to read the man's expression. "And I can even offer you much more than that – if you're willing to talk to me."

"Talk?" roared Enzomian, grinning now, baring his yellow teeth. He turned to look at his men, and they all laughed. "Talk? You're not going to talk to me like a messenger; you're my prisoner. You killed and wounded my men." He gave Edmund a strong enough strike to the side of his face to send him to his knees again.

"We shall have to do more than that, if you don't agree to peace," said Edmund defiantly. He could taste blood inside his mouth and feel the swelling that grew on the side of his face after Enzomian's blow. His eyes were watering a little, but he lifted his chin and showed no interest in nursing his wounds. "But, if you do, we shall offer you access to a life that's much easier than what you're used to. We could trade with you, for food or –"

But Enzomian didn't listen. He had his eyes on the lad in the corner now, waving him over. "Come over here, boy," he called out. "See the person who helped to kill your father."

The lad came out of the shadows slowly. Edmund saw that he limped very badly, favouring his left leg. As he came closer, the king saw that he had some resemblance to Cescian, the man Peter and Edmund had killed the other night before escaping. A feeling of remorse overcame Edmund, for he began to realise that he must be inside Cescian's home, that was now inhabited only by his wife and son – neither of which looking up to being able to make a living.

Enzomian was impatient with the slow progress the youth made towards Edmund. "Hurry up, you silly boy," he sneered, holding out his dagger. An evil gleam had come to his dark eyes. "It's time to avenge your father, Cescian. Cut off the hands that killed him." He thrust the dagger into the quivering youth's hand and grabbed Edmund very roughly by the shoulders. Another man stepped forward and caught hold of Edmund's arms.

One look into the lad's frightened dark eyes made it clear that this was the last thing he wanted to do. He simply stood; the hand holding the dagger quivered so badly that he nearly dropped the weapon.

Another man came into the hut. "Lord Enzomian! The army has retreated. That funny horseman has led them all away. They are no longer threatening us."

"Good," said Enzomian, grinning at Edmund evilly. "Now my boy – _king_ of Narnia, aren't you? – you shall feel the power of our revenge. And then I might think about your suggestion to talk. I might be a few days, though. You'll be our guest until then, of course. Although you had better be prepared – you already know the comfort that our Narnian guests get to enjoy."

X

Back in the Narnian camp, Peter did his best to offer comfort to Lucy after they had retreated into the rocks, hoping anxiously that a messenger would come to announce that Edmund's negotiations had been successful. However, although he didn't say it out loud at any point, Peter was more than sure that they would ride into battle in the morning.

The day went by, and so did the evening – and no messenger arrived.

That night, neither Peter nor Lucy barely got any sleep at all. They tossed and turned, and by the time Lucy announced quietly that she had had quite enough of it, there was already the faintest glow of red beyond the mountaintops to the east. The sky was clear, but the dampness of the early morning mist made the High King shiver as he left the warmth of his tent. Around him, battle preparations were going on.

"Are you feeling well enough to fight this morning, King Peter?" asked Philip kindly, as the High King softly placed the heavy saddle on his back.

Peter let out a snort that was supposed to sound amused, but got stuck and came out more like a cough. "Did my brother ask you to make sure of that?"

The horse's ears moved a little, then Philip bent his neck so that he could look at his rider. "He has indeed, Sire."

"Well," he said, patting Philip's neck as if he were a dumb horse, "let's just say I am as ready to fight as Edmund was to put his life at risk." He let out a sigh and added, "Now, let's go and get that imp of a rider of yours and all the others in need of our help out of there."

Philip whinnied, then nodded his head forcefully while stamping his hooves. "For all the Narnians in need of our help!" he repeated, and Peter smiled to himself, grimly.

The High King turned his gaze to Orieus, and in the faint light he could just make out the small nod of agreement the general gave.

A few moments later, the attack broke loose. Peter felt Philip break into a forceful gallop underneath him. Used to Adel's soft canter, Philip's movements seemed uncomfortable and bumpy, and secretly Peter wondered how come Edmund had been keen on riding the Talking Horse all these years. But he didn't have much time to dwell on the thought as they drove nearer to the huts where the battle would await them.

It had been decided that Peter, knowing the small setting, would be the one who would not really participate in the main battle, but try to get to the shed where the Narnians were locked up as quickly as possible. As Philip darted among the others across the grassy plain, the King wondered if they would be met by men well prepared, even now in the semi-darkness of the early morning hours.

As Peter had feared, the foreigners were indeed ready to fight when the force of the Narnian army thundered upon them. Some of them might have slept, but there had been men on the watch. So, when the two armies crashed into each other, the fight was instantly in progress. Swords clashed upon swords, and when Peter scanned his surroundings he noticed Emil right next to him, throwing himself at a group of three men with all his might.

Philip passed that scenery too quickly for Peter to see what was happening to the younger Talking Horse, but a loud noise, somewhere between a cry and a whinny, made his hopes for Emil sink. Tugging gently on the reins, Peter directed Philip through the thick of the battle towards the shed that he and Edmund had had to stay in when they had been prisoners. On their way there, he had to fend off several attacks, but none were vicious enough to do any harm.

Once they reached the shed, he dismounted with a jump, throwing himself on top of an armed foreign woman coming at him. He came down with such force – wearing full armour, he was far from being light – that she dropped her sword and fell down unconscious before they had even started to fight.

"Philip!" he called out loudly. "I'm going to try to get the door open. Once that's done, I want you to carry as many of our people out of here as you can – especially if any are wounded or hurt. The rest, Edmund and I will manage to get out."

But, getting the door to open was not as easy as he had thought. A thick metal chain was fastened to the bolt that held the door shut, and a lock was placed firmly upon it. Peter knew he would never find the key in time, and so he looked around wildly for another idea. For lack of a better option, he drew Rhindon from its sheath and started to hack at the wooden bolt. If that came off, the door would open. But a sword was not made for hacking wood to pieces, and Peter made little progress.

"Your Majesty!" cried Philip suddenly, causing Peter to turn around.

Enzomian himself was running at him, his own broad sword drawn and held high. Philip whinnied and raised himself to his hind legs, then came down, practically running the man over. Several others came to Enzomian's help, and Peter knew that Philip couldn't deal with them all at once.

But Rhindon was stuck in the wooden bolt and wouldn't budge. Peter tried to rip his sword free, knowing full well that there was a chance that he might break it. Letting out a number of words that would have made Susan lock him in his chambers for a week if she'd heard, Peter tried one last time and gave up. Then, with a roar of fury, he flung himself at one of the approaching foreigners without a weapon, slamming him to the ground with the mere force of his own body weight and landing on top. With his bare fist, Peter started hitting his opponent in the face while dodging another man's sword blows.

"Peter! Is that you out there?" It was Edmund's unmistakable voice, coming from inside the hut.

Peter's heart did a little jerk. His brother was there among the other prisoners, and he sounded all right – fit and eager to get out and help.

The man Peter was kneeling on was unconscious by now, and the second one had been shoved away and knocked out by Philip. Enzomian himself was equally defeated – at least for the moment – lying a few yards away. Having won time, Peter turned back to his original task. Rhindon was still stuck, but the bolt was half off already.

"Edmund!" Peter called. "Listen, I need you to push against the door from inside. With all your might, throw yourself against it!"

"Peter, what –"

"Just do it, Ed!" growled the High King. "And best you also make Roak and everybody else who is fit for it throw themselves against the door. The more weight, the better!"

"All right, we'll do our best!" came the call from inside the shed, and a moment later there was a banging noise as several bodies crashed against the wooden door, which moved a little against the bolt but didn't come loose.

"Again!" Peter shouted.

It took several times until the wooden bolt finally splintered and came off, Rhindon coming with it. Edmund and Roak, the cheetah, practically came crashing through the opening. Peter noticed that his brother had been stripped off his armour, once more wearing just a cotton undershirt – which was stained with blood. His face was bruised and his lower lip was cut. Other than that, he seemed hale enough. Peter was about to ask him how he was when he saw the younger suddenly go completely pale.

"Peter!" Edmund shouted, eyes wide with fear. He stepped forward and raised his arms, looking ready to shove his brother.

But it was too late. A searing hot pain shot through Peter's guts as he realised that he had just been stabbed from behind with a blade. His legs gave way almost immediately and he dropped to the ground, the metallic smell of blood hitting his nose just before he lost consciousness.

XXX

 **A/N:** Anybody have any idea what is going to happen to Cescian Jr after this adventure ends? I'll give you a clue; you should know if you have read _**The Knight And The Lady**_ very carefully :)


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